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luna-the-moth · 3 years

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Crimson Rivulets (SFW) Pt.1

Alright, since Lucifer won first place in the poll, I’ll start off with the Avatar of Pride himself! This was supposed to be a hc/scenario, but I suppose this jumped out at me! GN! reader, and SFW. This’ll be a series, so I’ll link each part as they come out!

Word count: 2.1k words

This is a Vampire!Lucifer AU and (SFW) Modern! CEO Lucifer AU

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED

Reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Vampire!Lucifer AU (SFW)

A pureblood vampire, scorned by his father, and cast out with his siblings. From a young age, Lucifer had learned to take care of himself, along with his brothers. As the eldest, he felt a strong urgency and need to shield and protect his siblings, at any cost. Even at the expense of his pride.

Before stepping out of his father’s light, Lucifer had been one of the most prestigious vampires; the most sought-after. Fellow purebloods, half-bloods, and turned vampires alike had flung themselves at him, left and right.

In truth, Lucifer had no interest in any of them. Why would he distract himself, when he was supposed to inherit the family business and fortune? As the eldest son of the household, he was expected to be the pinnacle of class, intelligence; the embodiment for everything a pureblood represents.

He was known by many titles and honorifics, having obtained various positions of high status throughout his eternal lifetime. Governor, count, high priest, etc. But the name you know him as now, is Lucifer, CEO of Morningstar Corp.

The same Morningstar Corp., where you were going to apply for. Specifically, the open occupation of a personal assistant. You had been searching for a job close to the city, with decent benefits and stability. Which is quite odd, as Lucifer was known for his short temper, and had a reputation of going through assistants at least once a month.

Along with the fact that he was one of the most influential businessmen, it added an extra reason to be cautious. After all, he could make or break you, and if he didn’t like you? Say goodbye to all future job potential. His influence spread across the country, connections with almost every important figure of power.

The position offered a higher-than-average salary, and benefits of high worth. It was a gamble, but if fate smiled down on you, it may as well be one of the best opportunities of your life. Well, it was, but not in the way you expected.

Adjusting your tie slightly, you entered the doors of the building, a pleasant demeanor sweeping over your features. You had to be poised and professional, after all, this was a multi-billion company, if you weren’t your best, failure was guaranteed.

You had worn a simple outfit, contrasting to the corporation’s high-class, expensive atmosphere. But you were just applying to be an personal assistant after all, behind the scenes; so you wore a professional outfit, that wouldn’t stand out.

Arriving just on time for your interview, you took the elevator to the 27th floor, as the receptionist had instructed. With smooth, light jazz playing in the small space, your mind wandered to the possibility of what would happen if the job was granted to you.

Would Lucifer be a haughty, conceited, arrogant boss to work for?

Snorting, you thought, “Of course he is, he’s Lucifer Morningstar, CEO of one of the most prestigious companies in the country, why wouldn’t he be?”

Ping!

Interrupted by the signal of arrival from the elevator, you took in a deep breath, and stepped out of the elevator, hope in your heart.

The interview had gone fairly smoothly, as you answered the questions in a concise, polite manner. It was surprisingly less nerve wracking, besides the fact that your interviewer looked like he wanted to bite you-

At least, he had seemed like it. With mesmerizing, and hungry forest green eyes, you felt yourself gravitating towards him. Although, you quickly reminded yourself that this was a professional setting, and you were applying for an interview.

Seemingly pleased with your responses, the interviewer bade you goodbye as you left the office, a mysterious smirk gracing his features. Leaving the room, the image of him stayed in your mind for days, the intensity and calculation in his gaze haunting you, luring you in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For a few days, you had idly scrolled through other job listings, as you didn’t want to rely on the Morningstar Corp. application. After all, you were just one of many applicants, it’d be foolish to place all your hope into that one position.

After another day or two, you got a callback. They had accepted your application, and Mr. Satan, your interviewer, had wanted you to come back and sign the official papers, along with a tour of the building.

With hope in your heart, and a lightness in your step, you entered the skyscraper of a building once again, an air of confidence about you. Well, a sense of security and assurance would be a more accurate description.

Walking down the clean, polished hallway of the 34th floor, your thoughts wandered. However, they were abruptly stopped when you heard a stern voice ring out, prideful and condescending.

“Yes, and? It’s almost pitiful, how lousy you are with your job. I hired you as an interviewer, yet all of your choices have been fired or left on their own accord.

Honestly, since you are one of the most educated and competent halfbloods, I thought you would at least have some potential. If you can’t even find a decent personal assistant for me, I see no potential for you here at Morningstar Corp.”

In an open conference room, you saw a young man, with blond hair, and seemed to be his mid twenties. With a scowl on his face, narrowed eyes were directed towards the man in front of you.

Ah, it was your interviewer, you had realized. Who else had such enchanting, deep green eyes? Focus, you chastised yourself.

“Oh please, you drive off even the most patient of assistants! Speaking of personal assistants, you can’t just call them ‘degenerate, insolent worms not worth the dirt on your shoes, much less your investment,’ because they brewed your coffee a little too long, sir.

If you weren’t such an entitled, demanding pureblood, I’d-”

Wait- pureblood?

As he was about to fire off an insult, his gaze darted towards you, eyes seemingly gazing into your soul. Your breath hitched, words barely being able to force themselves out of your throat.

“Ah, my apologies, I didn’t mean to interrupt, I’ll be back later-”

Hastily turning on your heel, you attempted to leave, but were stopped by a commanding voice behind you. Immediately, you had recognized him. The same voice you had heard over and over, in press conferences, and various ceremonies.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

You turned around, suddenly anxious and on edge. Something about that voice made you shiver in fear, and...delight?

Lucifer was dressed in a dark navy blue suit, with corresponding dress pants, along with a crisp, white dress shirt, hidden under a dark blue not unlike that of the suit. To add on, a black tie was adorned around his neck, with black dress shoes.

Wow Y/n, the first thing you think about when confronted by one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, is about how hot you think his voice is, and that collar- Get yourself together!

Blinking once, your gaze meets that of a blood-red one, almost hypnotic. A deep, bloody red that was similar to that of roses, or perhaps rivulets of blood. Almost like the blood red eyes of a vampire, found in fantasy novels and mythological stories.

Although, maybe he was one, since Satan had mentioned him being a ‘pureblood,’ if I recall correctly. That could mean anything, though.

Nonetheless, you quickly snapped your focus back to the present, as you had realized you had been staring into his eyes for maybe a bit too long. With burning red staining the tips of your ears, you replied with a slight waver in your voice,

“I was just about to leave and reschedule my appointment with Mr. Satan, as it seemed the two of you were busy, Mr. Morningstar.”

Staring at each other’s eyes for what seemed like forever, Lucifer smirked, breaking the hold on your gaze to glance back at Satan. With a dignified air around him, his moniker of “The Peacock” seemed quite fitting.

“Is this the new assistant you were speaking of, Satan?”

Scowling, he nodded curtly.

“Yes, this is Y/n L/n, your newest personal assistant. Out of all of your previous assistants, they’re the most qualified, and seem to align with your standards the most. I have faith in them.”

Taken aback by the blatant praise, you dipped your head in a gesture of thanks and gratitude.

Lucifer observed with a slightly curious gaze, masked behind a cover of apathetic, uninterested layers of emotions. It was rare for Satan to praise anyone, much less a new assistant.

He couldn’t deny that his curiosity was piqued; after all, he held Satan’s opinion in high regard, arguments aside. If he believed in your capabilities, you had to have at least some merit.

As much as Lucifer would like to deny it, he was a demanding boss, especially since his levels of stress were through the roof. Hell, if he was human, he’d be dead from overworking and lack of rest. Fortunately for the undead immortal, he wasn’t.

“I see, well Y/n, why don’t you finish up the required paperwork with Satan, and he’ll give you a tour afterwards. Your first day of work starts this coming Monday, be here at 7AM, sharp.”

Turning away, you stole a glimpse his face once more before Lucifer left, leaving you and Satan.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding in, you turned to Satan, mind clouded with thoughts flurried, flying through your head.

With charming smile and a certain glint in his eye, Satan gestured to the conference room, with papers and files ready on the table.

“Shall we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monday, 6:50 AM

Arriving at the building, you were huffing, as you had rushed over. Your morning had been fairly quiet, but the real issue was with traffic.

There was a car crash on your route to work, and it nearly made you late, added with the fact that parking spots were far and few to find, it was a miracle you had made it on time.

However, the sight that greeted you when you stepped into the polished office was...something, to say the least.

The first thing you noticed was a wave of iron and rust permeating your senses, filling your nostrils and causing light-headedness.

On Lucifer’s desk, sat vials of blood, and the man in question, had his fangs inserted through a vial. seeming to drink the blood through his fangs.

With closed eyes and a contented look on his face, Lucifer seemed to drink the blood like a mere cup of tea, nonchalant.

Letting out a noise of surprise, you clapped a hand over your mouth in shock; your boss was a vampire, just like from the manga you had read....

Lashes fluttering open, Lucifer looks at you with . Removing his fangs from the vial, he swiped his tongue along his fangs, not letting a drop of blood go to waste.

Setting it down, he placed his head on his propped hand in a bored manner, a contempt expression worn smugly across his face.

“Right on time, L/n. Since today’s your first day on the job, I’ll give you a simple task. Prepare a coffee with 18 shots of espresso, a dash of milk, and a caffeine booster.

Afterwards, you will stop by the clinic on the 13th floor, and collect a vial of Aspherion from the medicinal vault. The identification program should have your information set, and should be able to identify you by the card Satan gave you previously.”

Standing in shock, your eyes were wide with surprise, firstly, because your new boss was a vampire; also, that is an inhuman amount of caffeine, how the fuck has he not died yet- plus, having a vampiric boss wasn’t included in the contract.

No wonder the benefits were so great, he was gonna drink your blood like a fucking juice box.

“What in the world? First of all, my name’s Y/n, and I would appreciate if you would call me as such. Secondly, a vampire? Do you really think I’m just going to accept that, no question?”

Incredulous, you had gestured your hands in a dramatic fashion, genuinely offended that your new boss had thought you were going to take in this new information within seconds, and be completely fine with it.

Sighing with a look of irritation flashing across his features, he gestured for you to sit in an empty seat, proceeding to prop his chin on his hands. In his eyes, shone curiosity, and a challenge.

“Fine. What would you like to know?”

#my writing #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me x reader #obey me fic #obey me x lucifer oneshot #obey me lucifer fic #obey me fic series

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americanmoths · 3 years

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inappropriate funeral questions

prompt: haunt me in the night | tw: discussions of dying, MCD | 1.5k lmao | on ao3

“Potter,” Draco says at the reception to Goyle’s funeral. “How is it you look exactly the same as the last time I saw you. That was almost 3 years ago.”

Andromeda Tonks’ funeral. Draco wore a black dress.

“Good skincare.” The same answer he gives Hermione. A joke so he doesn’t have to form an opinion on his complete lack of outward signs of aging over the past 5 years.

Draco steps closer and takes his hand. Studies it. Turns it over in his own hand, gentle, focused. Harry swallows.

“You’re unnaturally warm.” Draco points his wand at Harry. “Avada Kedavra.”

Then, nothing. And then, Draco.

“You came back.”

Harry shrugs. It’s not as though this is the first time.

“This is not the time and place to discuss any of this. How about my place, tonight? I’ll give you my address. Bring wine,” Draco says.

“Are you, err, asking me on a date?”

“No, I’m asking you on a secret rendezvous to discuss the bizarre set of circumstances we’ve both found ourselves in.”

“But there will be wine.”

“Yes, Potter! Because we’re adults. Because despite the fact that I look 19, I’m actually 25 and thus will drink as much wine as I want whether on a date or not!”

“You know you look the same as you did 3 years ago too!” Harry calls after Draco as he walks away.

—

“Do you think I’m a bad son for leaving early?” Draco asks at what would be the reception to Narcissa’s funeral. He had left halfway through the ceremony, apparently to raid the communion wine stash and drink alone in the church basement.

“I think you’re grieving. It’s not as though your mom will know you left.”

“Don’t say that,” Draco says. “Don’t say that. She’s not gone. She’s just … somewhere else.”

“Whatever you say, Draco.”

Draco scowls. “No, not whatever I say. Don’t placate me.”

He aims his wand at Harry. A green flash.

Then, nothing. Then, Draco, looking almost sheepish.

“Sorry, I know you asked me to warn you, but I’m drunk, and it’s my mother’s funeral. I’m allowed to forget things.” Draco sighs. “I like that you come back. That we come back. Because if you can come back, then that means that she can come back, wherever she is. It means the matter preserves itself. It means —”

Harry’s heard what it means several times before. Draco’s fond of this particular speech — it staves off Draco's fear of death, Harry suspects. Harry doesn’t understand most of the points Draco makes, but he listens anyways. Draco’s mind moves faster than his does — than anyone’s does, probably. He’s the one that figured out the Fiendfyre hadn’t died as much as it had escaped. It burns still, inside the two people who spent the longest time zig-zagging through its flames. It preserves the two of them. Prevents them from dying.

Keeps them so warm, he thinks as he runs his fingers up and down Draco’s shoulder. He can feel the fire trapped there, still burning inside lovely, grieving, drunk Draco who sighs again and says, “Sometimes when I look at you, I can’t figure out if what I feel for you is real or if it’s because you represent the possibility of seeing everyone I ever love again.”

“What you … feel for me?”

“Yes. The — you know, pseudoscientific ‘heart-opening’ feeling.”

“Errrrr …”

“Don’t worry about it,” Draco says. “I’ll tell you when I figure it out.”

He sighs with his whole body, his head landing in Harry’s lap. “I think I’d like it if you stroked my hair.”

Harry does. He feels warm. He feels good. He feels as though he’ll wait forever for this dumb-ass intellectual to figure out the pseudoscientific heart-opening feeling is love.

—

“Do you think I look different now that I’m an orphan?” Draco asks after Lucius’ funeral.

“Oh, yes, you look more handsome. All orphans are handsome didn’t you know?” Harry says. “It’s my honor to welcome you to our elite and exclusive club.”

Draco snorts and finishes off a second bottle of wine. “I keep on thinking about all the things he hated about me and how I’ve doubled down on them. Like animals, he hated animals and I have a crup, a dog and a phoenix. And he always told me I overthink things, and now I’m an academic. Kissing boys, also a no, no.”

Harry doesn’t want to think about Draco kissing other boys. Not when he has yet to kiss him.

“Being immortal, that’s a thing I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of,” Harry says.

“Definitely. I’m sure he hates that I outlived him. Well, sort of outlived him,” Draco waves his hand. “I don’t want to think about whatever happens on the other side right now; I’m in too good of a mood. Dancing! He would’ve hated that I dance.”

“I didn’t know you dance.”

“Of course I can dance. Here. Let me show you,” he pulls Harry snug against him, casts a music spell. Harry doesn’t recognize the song, or the dance, but he recognizes the desire in the other boy’s eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” Draco says.

“I know you do,” Harry leans toward Draco, wet heat against wet heat; a fire that burns forever, greeting itself.

Time restarts. When Harry pulls back, Draco’s 29. As old as he’s supposed to be.

—

“Why did you come?” Draco spits at the reception to his ex-lover’s funeral. Tim? Ted? Travis? Harry never learned his name out of spite.

“I wanted to see you.”

“That’s massively inappropriate.”

“I’m supporting a friend. I know how you get at funerals.” Drunk.

“I’m fine. It was cancer; it wasn’t as though it was a surprise. He was in a lot of pain. He wanted to go.” Draco sighs. “We used to argue about that all the time. I was smarter than Toby, but he was much better at arguing, so when we really got going, we could go for days. It’s been so quiet now that he’s — wherever he is. I think I’m scared of being alone. I think I’ve had a little too much wine.”

“You don’t have to be alone, you know. I’m not saying we have to do anything, but you don’t have to be alone.”

“I can’t. Every time I see you, I want to kiss you, but if I kiss you, then it’ll restart our clocks. It’ll kill us, and I’m more scared of dying than I am of being alone.”

“I know you are.”

“How come you’re not?”

“I trust you to do the thinking for the both of us. Sorry, is that unfair? It’s not as though I can keep up with you in the thinking department anyways. I trust you, and you said there’s a flip-side, that we’re proof that there’s a flip-side. Which means all there is is just somewhere else I get to explore with you.”

Draco leans down and kisses his hand. Harry feels the burn pass from Draco to him, feels the fire inside him dim. He gets older by two year, three.

But he feels it more when Draco walks away.

—

“Have you ever seen a phoenix die?” Draco asks at what Harry guesses is supposed to be a funeral for his pet phoenix, Kelvin. He’s sitting in his favorite armchair, dressed in black, still as 29 as when Harry kissed him 29 almost 70 years ago. Kelvin died, please come, that’s all his owl had said.

“No?” Harry says.

“I expected as much. Obviously, die isn’t the right word. Metamorphosis, that’s the word I’ve decided fits best. Because obviously, he’s here still.” Draco indicates the flaming baby bird sitting in a ring of ash on the corner of the armchair. “But his memories were erased, and that’s a kind of death. Kelvin was old for a phoenix — I think he was holding out for me, and he finally realized that I had no intention of going. But it was his time. I watched, out of respect. It was … beautiful. He looked so relieved. As though, finally, he could rest.”

“Errrr you know actually I think maybe I did see that. With Fawkes.”

Draco laughs and runs his hand across his face. “I’m trying to make a segue, you know. To tell you I’m ready. I thought if I was poetic about the whole thing It’d make me less scared, but it didn’t. I’m still scared.”

“I know you are.” Harry says and pulls Draco close to him. Draco rests his head against Harry’s chest. “It’s ok. We’ll be together.”

He slides two fingers under Draco’s chin, angles it up to his face. Waits for Draco to be ready. The longest moment of Harry’s very long life.

Draco looks as though he has something he wants to say, but he never speaks. He leans forward and kisses Harry.

All of the years come at once. 29; 39; 49. His back hurts; his legs ache; he feels comfortable in his body in a way his youth never allowed. 59; 69; 79, on. Two old men, falling into inevitability. Reaching together for what’s next.

There’s Draco, and Draco, and only Draco. And then nothing at all.

#alternative title: the years start coming and they don't stop coming #drarry microfic #drarrymicrofic #drarry squad #draco malfoy #harry potter #ive been trying to write microfics that are not dialogue heavy to force myself to ~grow as an artist~ oops

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voidstilesplease · 3 years

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telltale

Word count: 1,592... the goal is less than 1k but- | Warning/s: none | Contains: HP Universe, magic, Slytherin!Stiles, Slytherin!Theo. Was going to make this a separate thing, but it's been a while for this tag, so.

---

Having a newly-turned werewolf best friend is taking a toll on Stiles and it's showing - but he's also not about to abandon Scott to his predicament. What kind of a best friend would that make him? So, he spends most of his time now helping Scott through the shift; in remaining semi-conscious even as the moon pulls at his sanity, and in adapting to the enhancements of his senses. Stiles even brews the monthly supply of Wolfsbane potion himself, in the old girl's lavatory in the presence of Moaning Myrtle - the worst tattletale ghost in history. Luckily, Stiles is an expert at bribery. You'd think it was impossible to bribe a girl who's been dead forever, but goes to show how little you know about the world.

Stiles knows what he's committing to is risky, and Salazar Slytherin would have sneered at his display of severe lack of self-preservation if he could, but it wouldn't make a proper Slytherin of him if he turned down a challenge he believes he can win. And he can win this. In fact, he's winning so competently he's perfecting his animagus form without proper training or legal consent - both of which are required for all witches and wizards who wish to become one. It's his way of showing solidarity to his best friend. If his friend transforms into an animal, then he transforms into an animal as well. Albeit, of all animals, he chose a fox, and foxes and wolves tend not to get along. But eh, that's all right. There hasn't been an accident anyway... yet. Also, he has always wanted to do something illegal just to prove that he can get away with it. He always does something illegal, yes, but, like, hosting illicit parties in the Slytherin Common Room has nothing on becoming an unregistered animagus, isn't that right? This thing with Scott is an excellent opportunity to broaden his horizon.

But it doesn't mean it's not without consequences on his social life, physicality (he's still fit, mind you, just lost a few pounds, is all), and most of all, his studies. He knows his chances of usurping the first rank from Lydia is borderline impossible, but he would damn well do everything not to be that far behind her. If he has to settle with second place, he will do so with a hairsbreadth of space between them and nothing more.

But goddamn if he isn't bedraggled, half-unconscious, bloody hungry, and terminally late to his potions class today. None of which would help his academic goal. He'll have to fight tooth and nail to get that 0.5 difference again.

He's lucky it's his Head of House, Professor Laura Hale's class and not Deaton's (who would purse his lips in disapproval, take 5 points from Slytherin, and look at him disappointedly the whole day), Professor Derek Hale's (he would huff and let his eyebrows speak the 10 points he'd take from Slytherin, and make Stiles the dummy for whatever curse they were demonstrating that day), or god forbid, Harris's (he would happily take 50 points from Slytherin without batting his eyelash then and there). Professor Laura would only turn her head away and pretend not to notice Stiles awkwardly sliding onto the seat beside his potions partner.

Merlin, his potions partner. Theo "I know what you've been up to and you better well know I'm gonna use it as leverage when the time comes" Raeken. He can't, for the life of him, guess how Theo knew about the animagus thing when he'd been so careful. Then again, Theo isn't a Slytherin if he doesn't have bags of tricks up his sleeves. Theo has repeatedly hinted that he's aware, and it's another thing that keeps Stiles up at night - well, more than usual. Theo already keeps Stiles up at night without trying. Theo hasn't blabbered yet - Stiles doesn't have to worry about that, at least - because a proper Slytherin would always go the blackmail route. Honestly, Stiles is only waiting for the shoe to drop. It's not like he doesn't have blackmail material of his own against his infuriating housemate. If Theo ever opens his stupid mouth, Stiles will call him out on his hypocrisy. Because apparently, there are two unregistered animagi in Slytherin.

Panting, he enters the room and immediately meets Professor Laura's eyes over the busy heads of his classmates. Wordlessly, she smoothly shifts her gaze away and turns her back to "check" on the progress (or lack thereof) of some Hufflepuff fellow as if she didn't at all notice Stiles by the entryway. Taking the chance (the hint is what it is), he crosses the room towards his partner and exhales loudly in his seat.

Theo is stirring the pot, the concoction quietly bubbling, as he smirks down at Stiles with an all-knowing look. "Long night?"

The git, the absolute bloody bastard. He probably slept the prescribed 8 hours, the prat. Albeit... an attractive one at that. But still the biggest git of all, of course. And, yeah, the most attractive git, loathe as he to admit it. But- Merlin, shut up. Shut up. He needs to bloody sleep and drop unconscious already. Or drown himself in firewhiskey and drop unconscious. For at least 15 hours straight.

Stiles sneers, looking for a clever slight to throw at Theo. He knows he can't insult his potions skills because he's actually decent at it, actually bloody good, the prick. And he can't pick on his appearance because, well, there is literally nothing to pick on about his outside everything, is there? Even that stupid slight graze on his left eyebrow looks fitting on him, like a fashion statement or something, and soon the Slytherin boys would go knicking themselves in their stupid eyebrows to copy him, to be half as echanting as him, to - Merlin. Shut up, for Salazar's sake.

Before Stiles can open his mouth, the onslaught of cedarwood, mint, and chocolate knocks his words back down his throat, and all he's able to do is inhale. Deep. With pleasure. With so much pleasure that it's an internal battle not to drop his eyelids and part his lips for a moan.

For seven years, Stiles has been haunted by it - sleeping so close to the boy who wears the scent that he can't eat a single bar of chocolate without thinking of Theo. It's both a blessing and a curse. Kinda cliche, but kinda true. Absolutely true. Also absolutely a secret.

So, he pulls his face into a sneer once more - as if his brain isn' melting into cedarwood, mint, and chocolate pudding - throwing a glare at his roommate. The long-time bane of his existence, long-time subject of his wanking fantasies (and disgustingly romantic daydreams, but Stiles is not about to address it because then he'll be admitting that shit's getting real), long-time crush. "None of your business," Stiles snaps. He'd like to add "eloquently", but it just isn't.

Theo only chuckles as if he already expected the reply. Or because he is immune to Stiles's attitude after dealing with it for years. Whichever it is, Theo's infuriatingly unaffected. It's so bloody distracting. He's so bloody distracting. Especially to a sleep-deprived Stiles who hasn't had enough rest, meal, or wank for far too long than reasonable.

"Well, make your tardy ass useful then and tell me if the potion smells like it's a flawless brew," he cocks his head sideways, lips slanting to an obnoxious smile, and adds, "Though, I already know it is."

Stiles scoffs (while he inwardly sings praises, because, damn if he isn't hot. Merlin, he needs to jerk off. Twice, in a row. Then drop unconscious. Wake up for dinner and masturbate twice more before bed most preferably). He glances down at the swirling mist coming from the pot and slides his unimpressed gaze back to Theo. "If I can smell anything at all over the entire bottle of cologne you poured on yourself today."

Theo looks taken aback for a moment, five heartbeats if Stiles is not wrong (he isn't) before his face breaks into the biggest, brightest grin Stiles has ever seen him make. Then he laughs heartily, genuinely; his eyes look extraordinarily joyful, and his neck even starts flushing. Stiles would've preened (he totally does inside. He caused that smile, okay?) if he didn't think that he probably did something embarrassing based on the absolute glee in Theo's reaction.

"Well," he drawls, still freakishly happy, like what in Merlin? He's a sight, yeah, bloody gorgeous, but Theo's happiness is usually in tandem with Stiles's distress, you see. It's perfectly rational to be suspicious. Then, Theo pins Stiles with a smug and satisfied look, saying, "I'm glad to know that's what amortentia potion smells like to you."

The statement gives Stiles a pause - more than a pause, he freezes - and he gapes while processing it. It doesn't take more than a few seconds for it to hit him.

Amortentia. Love potion. Today's task is Amortentia - a potion that smells different to each person, depending on what attracts them. And he's just announced that the air around him is basically marinating in Theo's bloody cologne. Salazar bloody Slytherin.

Stiles never imagined ever stooping so low but let it be known that what he does next, he will bring to his grave as his biggest disgrace.

Taking out his wand swift as lightning, he points it to himself for the easy way out. With a murmured spell, he grants his wish and knocks himself unconscious.

His idiocy is future Stiles's problem now. He'll stay bloody asleep for 15 hours straight, thank you very much.

~•~

steo a-z: part 20

#steo #teen wolf #steo A-Z #contains: >1k words #contains: slytherin!stiles #contains: slytherin!theo #contains: wizards/magic #stiles stilinski #theo raeken #stiles x theo #fics tag #flashficsau #so i remembered that hogwarts au wip on ao3... it's almost one year in the making lol #maybe I'll get to update it in the next spooktober event lol

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tmp-jatp · 3 years

Text

we keep him alive

a response to this post by @thedeathdeelers

read on AO3

“You’ll have the sorts of abilities very few other ghosts get to have, very few indeed. The kind of abilities only I have the power to grant you. You’ll get to go and complete that unfinished business you left on this earth when you died. Tie up all the loose ends, and all that. And when you finish and your time is up, you’ll come back to me. Do we have a deal?”

“Wh-what’s the catch?” Reggie’s eyes practically glow in the dim light. They’re wide. His face never looks so young as it does whenever he’s scared.

“A clever one, you. In payment for me allowing you to complete that which you never got a chance to do in your time allotted, in payment for borrowed time, you shall serve my needs for a proportional amount of time. I’ll give you enough time to complete all it is you still need to do, don’t worry about that. You’ll just return to me at the end of it.”

“Service like what?” Alex prompts.

“Oh, nevermind that, that’s for later. What you need to consider now is whether this is worth it to you. Do you want to live your dreams? Find love? Find a true, complete family, a home? More than that measly ragtag band of brothers you three formed. Something real and more? Something alive? Is it worth it for you to have all you ever wanted and more, in return for a few short years of afterlife with me? Come on, boys, it’s an offer you can’t refuse.”

Luke, Reggie, and Alex exchange nervous glances. An entire conversation elapses in a moment through their eyes.

Then Luke takes the lead. He reaches his hand out to shake. He grasps it and they shake, solidifying their deal. After Luke, so do Alex and Reggie.

Their wrists sting, and they look down to see a stain across the skin on the inside of each of their wrists: Three equal lines, arranged in a formation where they reach out from the middle to the points of an equilateral triangle. The dark marks are clearly visible even in the lacking light, etched black against their pale and suddenly clammy skin.

“One more thing, boys. When the time comes, if you are touching anyone but each other, they will be brought back as well, to help pay your debt to me. It’s a way I can get my time returned to me at a quicker rate. Because you know, time is valuable.” He laughs. “You probably know that better now than you ever did while you were alive.

“And how will we know when the time comes?” Luke asks.

“You will know.”

“You know, you don’t seem so wise, for the Wise Man. You’re just a broker for the desperate.”

“Do you want to repeat that, Alexander?”

Alex gulps. His jaw stays clenched. All three of them, probably all four of them know that even though he may just be a ‘broker for the desperate’, they were nothing if not desperate.

“You’ve already made your deal with me. Now it’s time for me to fill my part of it, before you fill yours.”

~~~

The time is coming. Luke can feel it. His mark, his stamp, tattoo, brand, whatever, has been pulsing for months, throbbing for weeks, aching for days, searing for hours. At regular intervals, the pain comes over him for an instant. He’s dealt with it the entire time he’s been here, like a second slower heartbeat in his wrist. A constant reminder that every minute they spent here was borrowed. He grimaces and grips his wrist tightly with his opposite hand. Elsewhere, Reggie and Alex surely hiss through their teeth in tandem with Luke.

Julie is there. Julie is always there. As soon as Luke’s muscles aren’t tensed anymore, he digs his nose even deeper into the skin of her neck and they hold each other tight. Neither wants to ever let go, even though they both know a goodbye is inevitable – and fast approaching.

They’re in the studio, because where else would they ever be? It’s a far cry from how it looked six years ago when they first arrived. The walls are plastered with posters advertising Julie and the Phantoms playing at various venues all across America. The plants have been changed out multiple times in the years Luke has “lived” here. Yet some things also always stayed the same: the pink dahlia curtains on the windows and the knitted throw blanket on the couch. This is home.

The others are spending their final moments with those they found during their second chance. They’ll have forever with each other, but only now with these. Willie. Ray. Carlos. Luke doesn’t blame them for spending every last second with those they’ve come to love most. Isn’t that exactly what he’s doing too?

Except-

The others don’t know yet, what Luke did.

“Please, let me take it from them. You said debts can transfer onto others, so they can transfer onto me. I’ll serve triple the time. I’ll do it.”

Luke winces again but he tries to hide it. Julie notices. Julie always notices. She squeezes her arms around his torso once and starts rubbing her hands up and down his back. She would whisper sweet nothings in his ear if only they could trick themselves into believing nothing was something.

He hears her sniffle. Luke leans back, loosening his arms around her waist. Her hair is a mess but his is even worse. Her eyes are shining but she’s doing her best to keep herself together for Luke. As if, if only she were strong enough, she could bear the weight of both their pain. He swipes away a stray tear on her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

They’re grieving prematurely, because they know there’ll be no opportunity after.

Luke’s mark pulses twice, quickly.

A warning.

Time’s almost up.

Luke pulls away from Julie, and she tries to cling to him.

“Please, Luke-”

“It’s time, Julie. I can’t- You know what’ll happen, if- if we stay like this. I can’t.”

She clings harder. “It’s worth it. To me. It’s worth it.” She’s pleading with him, and his heart shatters. She should never have to plead with anyone. She’s Julie Molina. This shouldn’t be happening to her.

“Not to me, it isn’t. I couldn’t live with myself if you came too.”

Three pulses.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.” Her voice breaks and her lips are curling outwards.

He takes a deep breath in and can feel his own eyes threatening to overflow. At once they pull back together in the center of the room. She digs her face into his chest and he envelopes her in his arms. They hold each other tighter than ever before, and Luke can’t bear the thought of trying to let go again.

Four pulses.

Luke buries his face in the hair on the top of her head and presses his lips to her scalp. She turns her head so her cheek is pressed against him and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Julie, I need you to listen to me,” Luke murmurs against her head. His voice is muffled, but amid only the sounds of their two hearts beating, it’s impossible to miss. “It’s going to be okay after I leave. You’re going to be okay.”

She shakes her head – whether that’s a denial that he’ll leave or a denial that she’ll be okay, he can’t tell.

Three pulses. It’s a countdown now.

“Yes, you will,” he insists. “I’ll still be here, in you. Just like your mom, Julie. She’s alive in you.”

“That’s different, Luke.”

“It’s no different at all.”

He reaches around behind his back for her hands and finds them, clutching to the fabric of his shirt. Gently he eases her fingers free and grips her hands in his. He brings them back around to be held between them, forcing space to open up between the two.

Two pulses.

“Luke, please,” she pleads again. “Please, no.”

Luke rubs his thumbs over the back of Julie’s knuckles. They’re white with how hard she’s trying to hold to him. She’s always been his anchor, but today she can’t be anymore. He won’t let it happen.

She brings him in one final time and this time they meet at their lips, in a kiss that doesn’t say nearly everything that is left to be said. Luke knows she’s trying to keep him there long enough that the deadline will pass with them together as one. He keeps one hand intertwined with hers down at their waists, but he draws her other hand up so she can caress his face one more time, the way she always liked to do. His own hand rests on top of hers there.

One pulse.

Now or never.

Luke breaks off the kiss and once again Julie has tears escaping her eyes. “Luke, no,” she makes one last bid to stop him or change his mind. “Let me come, too.”

Luke uses their joined hands to push her away as he feels heat begin to build in his wrist. She stumbles and falls backwards onto the sofa, and he takes three large steps backwards.

He meets her eyes just after she swipes at them with her sleeve. “Keep me alive, yeah?”

“Luke!” Julie calls his name in an anguished cry that haunts him from the moment he hears it. It’s worth it to keep her safe.

The heat rises and rises in his wrist, from a searing red to a white-hot all-consuming pain coursing through his every vein. A scream rips from his throat. He keeps moving away even as his vision begins tunneling, anything to keep her from reaching him before he goes.

The fire burns him up from the inside out, feeling like a constant electrocution of the highest current going through every single pore. His vision tunnels more and more, until everything is black.

And then the pain is gone, and it takes a moment for his cry to melt away, too. He opens his eyes – he didn’t know they’d been squeezed shut tight – and sees that dim dark room he hasn’t seen for six years.

“Welcome back.”

The doors to the studio slam open and Julie startles from her stupor trance. Her eyes widen when they land on Reggie and Alex.

“How are you still here?”

“Where is he?” Alex demands.

Julie shakes her head. She wants the anguish back. She wants the grief back. This numbness is too much. “He- he’s gone. He left. I- I thought you two did too.”

Alex storms through the small space, checking behind large furniture and pounding the bathroom door open as if to make sure Julie wasn’t lying.

“We thought we’d be gone, too,” Reggie explains. “We don’t know what happened.”

Alex returns. “He’s not here,” he growls. “We were supposed to go back, it was supposed to be all three of us. Damn bastard took our place!” Alex slams his fist against the wall.

Julie gapes. “He could do that?”

Alex throws his hands up and paces back along the floor. With Alex’s back to them, Reggie answers.

“Maybe? We think so? I don’t know, it wasn’t really clear.”

“So is he just...gone?” Julie doesn’t like how small her voice sounds. Reggie’s face and Alex’s body say everything. Yes.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Alex poses to the room.

Julie takes a shaky breath. “We keep him alive.”

taglist: @futurearchaeologyprof @beethovensbitxh @ace-bookworm @queenmolina @molinashimbos @star-astro @sunset-sweeerve @bluefirewrites @reggieshamster @blush-and-books @smolfangirl @thedeathdeelers @williexmercer @thesunsetcurvephantom @russsianspy @fanfics-she-wrote @pink-flame @angelofarts @chickwiththepurpleguitar @hey-there-juliet @tonightthestarsalign

#tmp writes #what a fun exercise to get back into writing #angst #idk what kind of au this is it's just some idea #melody and words #juke

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revengeisourlullaby · 3 years

Text

If I Never Knew You (End)

Warnings: 18+, honestly this one barely has anything crazy going on it in. It’s the resolve to everything, a little angst,

a/n: I hope you all have enjoyed this little series I wrote up. I had a lot of fun writing it and maybe will do more in the future. Maybe I’ll add onto this and further the story line but as of right now I’m pretty content with the outcome. As always, asks/requests are open! And if you want to be tagged let me know! Have a wonderful day :)

Word count: 1.9K

Loki x female!reader

Eyes fluttering open, it was dark in your room. The moonlight peeking in from underneath the curtains in your bedroom. Sitting up in your bed you reached over into your bedside table and pulled out a box of matches. Grabbing the candle sitting atop your table you lit it to move around your room without tripping over anything. Reaching the door it seemed that everyone had slipped into their own bedrooms for the evening.

Perfect.

Closing your door once more you moved toward your closet and picked out a dress more suitable for the evening. It was blue-gray with thin straps holding the beauty together. The neck had extra fabric that mimicked sleeves and trailed down the front of your chest. Silver embellishments were delicately placed down the bottom of the skirt and pooled at the bottom of your feet when you wore it. Setting the candle back on your nightstand, you shimmied out of the dress Loki so kindly gave to you this morning and put on your new one. Hoping that new clothes would rid you of some of the residual energy of the day.

On the front of your bed was a grey knitted shawl that you made months prior. Finding your pair of silver sandals you tied the straps around your ankle and blew out the candle. Letting your eyes become adjusted to the dark you gently moved the curtain careful to not make any noise when pulling it back. Sticking your head out the window you made sure that the coast was clear still and your father hadn’t come outside for something. Seeing the still night you grabbed your shawl and gingerly slid out your window. Wrapping the shawl around your head you began your possible last walk to the golden tower you were hoping to once be yours.

You had to walk silently but also with a purpose. Judging by where the moon sat in the sky, Loki would still be awake at this hour. Once stepping out of the vicinity that was your home you felt safer to move more quickly. Almost running, you made your way to the garden that Loki found you in the very first time you met. Unknowingly, tears were rolling down your cheeks. The day's events coming back to haunt you and the beautiful memories you shared with Loki come to the forefront as well. It was becoming too much to bear all too quickly.

Slowing down you balanced yourself on your knees and took slow deep breaths. Finally catching your breath, you saw a figure in the distance walking toward the garden. You froze but didn’t want to look too suspicious so you slowly walked into the garden and sat on the marble bench. Turning your back, you faced out toward the water that surrounded Asgard and hoped that the figure you saw walking in the distance would never come. But to your dismay, you heard the ground crunching behind you. Shuddering you hoped they would just walk on by leaving you to be alone.

“Are you alright?”

It was Loki. What was he doing out?

You were surprised nonetheless but also extremely relieved.

“Loki? What are you-”

You cut yourself, your emotions bubbling up in your throat. A knot formed and you were trying your best not to let tears spill over but Loki’s presence broke the dam you desperately tried to keep together.

“Y/N, what’s the matter? Why are out here running across the ground and alone?”

Loki finally made his way to face you head-on and upon placing his finger under your chin he saw the remnants of the tears staining your cheeks.

“Who hurt you? Did something happen at home?”

“Y-yes, but I just...I’m beyond overwhelmed and seeing you just kinda pushed me over my limit. My apologies.”

“Darling, look at me.”

Placing his hands on either side of your shoulders, he took one hand and wiped another hot tear streaking down your face.

“If you don’t tell me what’s happened I can’t begin to help you through anything. So, walk me through it. We’ve got all night.”

He smirked at you. Trying to make light of the situation, something he’s always had a knack for. Sighing, you let out a choked laugh finding the strength within you to speak to Loki about everything.

“Well, I told my parents. And my mother was surprisingly accepting of us and the idea of it all-”

“-Which is good! So why the crying?”

“Well if you let me finish...My father is the one who gave me a hard time. And to top it off, they had a suitor in there at the dining table to meet me. So on top of him completely disregarding my happiness and what my life means to me, some poor bastard had to hear it all firsthand. It was just wildly embarrassing.”

“So...we have one out of two blessings. Well, that's better than nothing.”

“Yes but Loki I’m not even supposed to be here right now. My father at the top of his lungs said that I’m not to see you again until his mind is made.”

Loki’s hands traveled down your arms and rested on top of your hands.

“Did you tell him about, well you know..”

“Yes and I think that is our only saving grace right now. Without that, I don’t think he would’ve even considered a second thought.”

You sighed, buried rage now coming to the forefront

“And the way he spoke about you, he wouldn’t even let me defend you or explain myself. Just continuously cut me off. Gods! If only he knew. If only he cared to know the love and passion we share with one another. But I’ve never had the luxury of him truly listening to me. Always been the afterthought and he doesn’t understand that with you, you’ve always made me feel centered. Never off balance and you’ve given all and more I could ever ask for in a partner. Loki I just can’t bear to lose you. I just can’t.”

“Come. Stand up Y/N.”

Loki held your hands tightly as if to tell you there was no way he was letting go. Reluctantly, you stood from the bench and trailed behind Loki. He led you to the ledge of the garden, getting a better look out at what was Asgard. The moonlight painting both of you beautifully and the roses framing your body eloquently.

“Look out at the sky. What do you see Y/N?”

“The stars, the moon shining bright, and freedom for lack of a better term.”

“And what stands out to you the most?”

“The stars. The way the shine in tandem with the moon. It makes for a beautiful image that I don’t think I could forget.”

Tapping on the back of your hand, you turned to face Loki

“The stars cannot exist without the moon my love, the same way our love cannot exist without one another.”

You knew his words meant well but you couldn’t help but sniffle at them. It almost felt like a goodbye of some sort.

“Yes, but Loki-”

“-Ah ah. No ‘buts’. Listen to me. Everything that has happened between us I wouldn’t trade for anything. If I never knew you I would have known how precious life can be. If I never knew you I would never have known what unconditional love felt like.”

The tears in your eyes have now since faded, being replaced with unbelievable wonder and complete and utter love. Loki’s eyes held such sincerity that you felt you needed to speak up sooner or you would look like a fool, but he beat you to it.

“In this world that’s full of fear, rage, and lies, you showed me the truth of what life could be. And you showed me it with such luster that I couldn’t imagine anything else. And when I look into your eyes I know you feel the same, so please, Y/N, dry your eyes. None of this would have been possible without your radiant shine and love for life and for that, I am so grateful to you.”

Words failed you but you wanted to let him know that you were still in this till the end. Gazing up at him you looked down and placed your face into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a tight, unsuspecting hug. Pulling away from him you finally felt that words could be formed and you could properly voice your thoughts. You stood closer to the ledge and looked off into the distance before speaking.

“I thought our love would be so beautiful and somehow make the entirety of Asgard burn with admiration. I never knew that hate and fear could be so strong and leave us in the dust waiting for answers that may never be given.”

Turning around to face him you looked up into his eyes again and his hand rested on your lower back.

“But still my heart is saying we were right and I can’t let that go. I never will. For if I never knew you, I would have never known this love that we’ve created. I found you when I was meant to and I’m forever grateful for the moments we have created.”

“Y/N I want you to know that there is no moment I regret. With you, I have finally learned what it means to live with purpose. While I don’t think our time is gone just yet, with you I have lived at last. There’s no avoiding that. I’d be lost forever if I never knew you.”

A bittersweet smile pressed against your lips and you brought his face down to yours. A kiss that was searing but with affirmation and probity. You felt at home in Loki’s arms and he felt the same. The two of you would be taking this hurdle by storm and ensuring that separation would not be a variable worth considering. Loki pulled away and stepped behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist and his head resting atop yours. Rolling it to the side he spoke once more,

“You know this isn’t goodbye right. Just a small bump in the road.”

“I know. Considering my mother was on board it’s only a matter of time, I just want to know for sure when that time will come. My father just makes everything hectic.”

“Buut you have me, and always will. So when you need not only relief but comfort I am here for you darling. He’s not going to lock you up forever, eventually, he’ll tire of ignoring his only daughter and will regret his decisions. Trust me. Just harbor a bit of patience.”

“I’m not sure what I would’ve done without you in my life Loki. Everything seems possible with you.”

Bringing your hands up to rest on his you spoke again,

“I love you, Loki.”

“Y/N, I love you more than you could envision and I will be counting the days until I get to call you my wife. Formally at least. Because principally, you already are.”

The two of you began swaying in each other's arms enjoying the silent company between you two. Within time you wouldn’t be restrained from your lover, but at this moment you wanted to soak it all in. Imagining your life together and what could be. You knew you couldn’t stay out for long, not wanting to risk your father’s temper or your sanity. But while you could enjoy this moment, you made sure to bask entirely in the seraphic ambiance of it all.

_______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @mad4marvelloki @lightmelikeamatch

#loki #loki fanfic #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson imagine #loki laufeyson x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel x reader

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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

Text

Betrothed - Illumi Zoldyck x Reader

Chapter 3: Blood

Summary: While treating Illumi’s wounds, you learn something about his past.

Warnings: Well...blood. Mentions of past abuse. Choking.

Words: ~1800

Story Masterlist

“You could at least try to relax when you’re at home, Lumi.”

As usual, every muscle on Illumi’s body was tensed as he shifted around on the small wooden chair, his upper half completely bare.

Running your hands over his delicate skin, you couldn’t help but humming happily while opening the first-aid-kit.

Lumi.

That nickname wasn’t really creative, you had to admit. Yet there were still many thoughts connected to it.

How it sounded a lot like ‘Luna’, for example - the latin word for ‘moon’. Illumi pretty much had a moon face anyway.

A wet and warm feeling on your fingertips got you down to earth again - it was your husbands blood, steadily running down his whole back. Quickly, you got a gauze pad to absorb it and started working.

Had it come to you fancying him that much that you already lost yourself in daydreams?

The deep cut on his shoulder would most likely leave a scar, no matter how well you’d treat it. Yet what bothered you more was the fact that he had acutally tried to hold the gap together with his way too big needles.

“Sorry...” you whispered as you tugged them out of his flesh, but he wouldn’t even flinch.

He insisted it was fine, and you knew that he was used to the pain. But he could still feel it, even if his face remained as cold and calm as always.

God knows what’s going on in his head...your husband was very hard to read, actually.

But you knew he wasn’t just a puppet for his family. Illumi had some thoughts of his own, and you burned to get through to him.

The flesh wound was still bleeding, and since it hadn’t been properly closed in hours, you needed to clean it first. “I’m so sorry” you repeated, pouring some disinfectant into the cut.

“Stop apologizing.” The way he emphasized the words made him almost sound irritated.

“B-But I-”

“You’re assisting me as I demanded, so there’s no rational reason for you to say something like that.” It were moments like this that made you think Illumi actually tried to calm you down - the best he knew how. Through choosing his words wisely.

After the bleeding stopped, you began stitching up the wound while your husband was still sitting as if frozen in place.

“I-I just don’t want you to feel more pain than necessary...” He was used to way worse. You were well aware of that fact, and yet-

“Y/N.” Hearing your name escaping his lips, you immediately got attentive. “Is that the reason you’re holding back while sparring with me?”

For a long while, the room fell completely silent.

Because both of you knew he was right.

“I see.” Before you could even think of an answer, Illumi jumped up from his chair, running his hand over your handiwork. “Thanks for the bandage.”

Oh god, he was preparing to leave again. Maybe forever this time.

Soon, he’ll tell his parents you were unfit for an assassin’s spouse - too soft and weak.

Death was a bearable punishment for your shortcomings, but simply being thrown out like a toy one has grown tired of?

How pathetic, being afraid of conseqences you now only imagined. Knowing very well that empathy was considered futile in this environment.

And yet you were shocked it came that way, only because of you speaking your mind.

“Illumi, wai-”

He cut you off right there, turning around with his hand reaching for your neck.

Illumi’s aura had always been intense, laced with a bloodlust that seemed like it was imprinted on him at his very birth.

You’ll never get used to seeing him like this.

“Are you scared?” he asked just before his fingers wrapped around your throat, repeating the question at your lack of reaction. “Are you afraid of me?”

Slowly but increasingly, the pressure on your neck began to become discomforting, making you wince a little.

Yet your look wouldn’t falter, rather decided taking on a staring contest with him.

“I’m afraid of you leaving me.”

Just like that, he retracted his hand.

The look in your eye gave it away. Every word, every syllable you spoke was true.

Even Illumi could tell just how much genuine affection they held - and he wasn’t immune to it either.

You cleared your throat and he only now realized just how much force he had used on you. Yet instead of apologizing as would be appropriate, he decided on continuing his interrogation.

“Why?” Illumi croaked, sounding a little bit broken. Hewasn’t able to speak any more, still baffled at your statement.

To ever think you could caught him off guard with such a simple sentence - but even through his poker face, you could feel his mind racing.

You sighed quietly, nervously tapping with your foot. “Do I really need to repeat that? It’s embarassing...”

No answer. Instead he stared you down even more intense.

“I like you, Lumi. This is my home, and I feel happy when I’m with you. Simple as that.”

Finally, he gave in to his exhaustion and took a seat on the sofa, with you following him closely after.

No matter what might follow, right now he needed some time. That much was obviously. So you just try to share your calming aura in silence.

You knew that puzzled expression way too well.

He’d put it on whenever something went past his comprehension, like when you once asked him about thinks he enjoyed or his dreams for the future.

“You look so sad...” you had once commented at an old photo of his. If you had to guess, he was about 4 years old at the time it was taken.

“Dunno” he tried to avoid further conversation back then, “Can’t remember.”

Just how often did you want to tell him that it was wrong? That his parents - no, his whole family - was full of sociopaths, and that they had stained his innocence through their wrongdoings and overeagerness?

And yet you had always kept quiet in the end.

Because you knew what it meant to him. The last bit of his sanity would probably break down if he knew all of the pain he had endured was wrong and abnormal.

Yes, their bonds were sure strange ones: They manipulated and harmed each other, all for the sake of the greater goal and the continuation of their bloodline.

That was probably how criminals beyond redemption desperately try to cling to their last bit of humanity - through the only people they can trust and be close to: Other murderers.

But at least you wanted to make him learn how to feele truly loved: For what he really was, and not only his obedience or achievements.

Right now, however, his elbows were resting on his knees, he was bent over and holding his chin with his hands. That position made it even harder for you to read him.

“I trust you with my life” you said without the slightest hint of hesitation in your voice. “It belongs to you ever since the day we married.”

Illumi cocked his head upwards, empty orbs staring holes into you.

“They think I’m a monster.”

Huh?

Usually, Illumi isn’t really a man of many words. That fact should change tonight.

“I heared them talk” he began explaining as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “About regretting training me so harshly. I was their first child, more like an experiment at how to raise an even more powerful assassin.”

You nodded in silence, trying to signalize him that you were listening - and that you cared.

So he kept on. “I’m the reason my brothers were allowed more freedom. Having the right to feel and think on their own. And now Killua has left us. If I hadn’t been a failure, they would’ve trained him stricter.”

He blamed himself, thinking he was responsible for being a failed experiment.

Dear god.

“Mother said she’s afraid of me. I was 10. Everyone else at the family at least bear certain, acceptable emotions. She said I’m dead on the inside and it freaked her out.”

Every single word of him shot needles into your heart, tears already filling the rim of your eyes. You grabbed the fabric tight, trying to hold yourself together for your sake.

“Illumi...”

You knew from the very second that many things were haunting that poor man’s conscience - but what he had just confided was just hard to bear.

In an attempt to comfort him, you instinctively shuffled closer until there was no gap between the two of you. It was an awkward closeness, but soothing nonetheless.

“It’s okay” he spoke in a tone that was unfamiliar soft for his standarts. “I understand how you all feel. I may not be able to emphasize with any feelings, but I can intelectually comprehend them.”

“Now cut it out!” This time it was you disrupting him, through a soft poke on his already injured shoulder.

"That’s bullshit and you know it. No person is absent of all emotions. You just shoved them into the back of your head and tried to surpress them. With your kind of childhood that was probably the only way to survive without completely losing it.”

His eyes shifted between your face and the place where your shoulders would touch, soaking every word like a dry sponge.

“And you do care about your family, right?” Well, how couldn’t he? It was the only way of mimicking normalcy he could pretend to have. “You’d do anything to keep them safe.”

“I just don’t get it” he murmured as you softly caressed his hand. “My allies are usually also mass murderers and psychopaths. But you are almost perfectly normal.”

Normal? You were an assassin too, goddamn it!

“Most would describe you as a very kind and sympathetic person. You should despise or at least fear me. They all do.”

“Not everything has to be logical, Lumi. I don’t think it makes sense either, but I also doubt that you’re a bad person. You’re much more of a victim.”

“Is that so...” That question sounded more like he was highly doubting it.

Just now you were realizing how slumped he was leaning back on the couch. That whole conversation had probably drained his energy reserves more than any mission ever could.

“Rest now, dear.” Carefully, without alerting him, you wrapped your arm around Illumi’s head and gently led him to your lap. “We can talk later.”

Much to your surprise, your husband would slowly close his eyes, swiftly drifting into sleep at hearing the steady beating of your heart.

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Y/N” he whispered those last words barely audible, fingers squeezing the flesh of your thigh ever so slightly.

“You didn’t. You never do.”

___

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#Illumi Zoldyck #HxH #Illumi Zoldyck x Reader #Illumi x Reader #Arranged Marriage AU #Writing #Fanfiction #Self Insert

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starlightbuck · 4 years

Note

It took me far too long to decide, wow but I shall request #23 please!

23. Happening to sit next to each other on a park bench, reading the same book.

you gotta read between the lines || read on AO3

“Here, take this.”

Eddie looks down at the book that May has thrust into his hands. The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin - he’s never heard of it. “What-”

“I overheard you telling Bobby that you want to read more so I figured I’d let you borrow one of my favorites.”

Eddie’s confusion gives way to understanding and is followed shortly thereafter by a burst of affection that he’s sure May would much rather he not put on display while surrounded by their family. And that’s what this, the 118, has become for him - a family.

It’s something his parents swore up and down he’d never have after he told them about his decision to leave Texas. He might find better job opportunities, but he’d never find anything better than the family he was leaving behind.

How wrong they were.

“Thanks, May. I’m looking forward to reading it.”

It’s a statement he means wholeheartedly. After a few months, Eddie has finally found a way to balance his work and home life, but he’s still lacking in any hobbies that he can call his own. Maybe that’s what reading can become for him - a moment of peace in his otherwise hectic day-to-day schedule.

May tilts her head to the side and stares at him for a moment before holding her hand out to him. “Give me your phone.”

He does as he’s told without asking, even if he doesn’t know what she’s planning to do.

Her fingers move across his screen with a speed that Eddie finds a little intimidating. In no time at all, she hands him back his phone. “I put my number in so you can text me your thoughts on the book.”

Eddie shouldn’t make a big deal out of this exchange, but there’s a small part of him that wants to. He’s an adult, May’s a teenager, and she just willingly gave him her phone number. And told him to text her. Does this make him cool now?

He’ll consult Hen later to find out.

“I can do that.”

Eddie starts the book while at work and regrets that decision immediately.

The first interruption comes from Bobby.

“Put that book down, Eddie. You’re helping me cook lunch.”

The next one is from Chim.

“Hey, Eight-Pack! Help me clean the truck!”

And then Hen.

“Eddie, please come and explain to Chim why I’m the superior video gamer.”

Then the alarm goes off and Eddie leaves the book behind in his locker. It remains untouched for the rest of his shift.

Eddie (9:42pm): i’m not sure who i’d want to be paired up with if i was in this game

May (10:01pm): you JUST got to that part??

May (10:02pm): i’m disappointed

Eddie (10:07pm): i’ll try to read faster

May (10:15pm): good

“Daddy, what are you doing?”

“Reading a book.”

Chris takes a seat beside his dad on the sofa and leans heavily against Eddie’s arm. “I’m bored. Can we do something?”

“I thought you were having fun drawing,” Eddie answers, eyes still skimming the words on the page in front of him. He’s managed to make some leeway with the book and now that he’s gotten into it, it’s been harder for him to put it down.

“I was but now I’m not. Please can we do something?”

“Chris.”

“I said please.”

Chris peers up at his dad from under golden eyelashes with a pout firmly in place. He’s only doing it to sway Eddie’s decision and not because he’s genuinely upset but that doesn’t stop the sight from tugging uncomfortably at Eddie’s chest. If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to hurt Eddie, it’s his son’s unhappiness. The reaction can easily be traced back to not being around when Chris was growing up.

That guilt that will haunt him forever.

It’s what pushes him to mark the page he’s on before closing the book. “What do you think about having a movie night?”

Chris’s eyes light up at the suggestion. It’s the best thing Eddie’s seen all day.

“Really?”

“Of course. How about you pick out a couple of movies and I’ll order us some pizza?”

Chris nods enthusiastically and is about to get up from the sofa when he stops. Eddie is going to ask what’s wrong, but the words get lodged in his throat when his son crawls into Eddie’s lap. He wraps his arms around his dad’s neck and plants a loud kiss on his cheek.

“I love you, daddy.”

The show of affection is almost second nature for Chris, but Eddie knows a time will come when that stops being the case. It’s as depressing a thought as it is unavoidable. Chris will get older and doing things like cuddling with Eddie and randomly saying ‘I love you’ will become nothing more than a rare occurrence.

Until then, he plans to cherish every single one of these moments and then lock them away for safekeeping.

Eddie wraps his arms around Chris, holding him as close as he can and kisses his son’s forehead. “I love you too.”

Eddie (5:45pm): ANOTHER bomb? How many are there?

May (8:32pm): keep reading and you’ll find out

With Christopher at Abuela’s and no shifts scheduled for the day, Eddie decides to take advantage of the cool Sunday weather and go to the park to get some reading done. By the time he gets there, the park is bustling with energy from children and adults alike. It takes Eddie almost ten minutes to find an empty bench but it’s worth it when he settles into his spot. It’s far enough away from the playground that the sound of yelling is nothing but background noise and close enough to a tree that protects him from the sun in case it decides to peek out from behind the clouds.

He leans back in the seat, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. Then he takes the book out of the bag he brought it in, always cautious of how he carries it since it’s a loaner, and dives in.

Eddie’s eyes follow the words with anticipation, drinking in every sentence as he reads them, not wanting to miss a single detail. He’s nearing the end and is desperate to see how the author is planning to wrap everything up. He has a couple of guesses, but the only way to determine if they’re correct is to finish the book.

“Excuse me?”

Eddie flips to the next page.

A throat clears and then, “uhm, hello?”

Eddie barely refrains from growling at the intrusion. The point of coming to the park to read was being able to do so without any interruptions.

He is nothing if not polite though, a trait that he attributes to his abuela. His parents might’ve taught him how to behave himself, but it was Abuela who taught him how to go out into the world and greet people with a smile.

“Yes?” Eddie says, grin locking in place when he looks up and finds a man with bright blue eyes staring back at him with a hopeful smile of his own. The sun is only just making a home for itself in the sky and the glow from its rays reflects off of the man’s hair and gives him an angelic glow. It’s almost too much for Eddie to handle.

Almost.

“I was just wondering if I could sit with you?” He gestures to the small part of the bench that’s empty. It’s possible that Eddie spread his things out when he first sat down so that no one would be tempted to join him. “I’ve done two laps around the park, but there are no other open seats.”

Eddie might’ve preemptively tried to keep strangers from intruding in his space, but he figures he can make an exception for this guy. That decision has nothing to do with how attractive he finds him and everything to do with the manners he picked up from Abuela. It’s what she would do as well, he’s sure.

“Yeah, of course.”

He grabs his jacket and backpack and slides over to the left end of the bench instead of staying in the middle. The man sits on the opposite end.

“I really appreciate this, thanks.”

The words have the potential to sound insincere or sarcastic, but coming from this man’s lips, they’re anything but.

“You’re welcome.”

Eddie wants to say more, find a way to continue a conversation with this beautiful stranger, but he doesn’t know how. He’s very out of practice when it comes to conversing with anyone outside of his family. It’s not something that he thinks about until it inconveniences him, and this is definitely one of those times. It also acts as a reminder that he should try his hand at putting himself out there again. It might be scary, but he owes himself that much.

Next time.

Next time he’ll be ready to actually engage in a conversation with someone who piques his interest.

Until then, he’ll cut his losses for today and jump back into his book. Maybe if he finds the courage to do so, Eddie can sneak a couple of sideways glances at the guy. That’s not creepy, right?

“Are you reading The Westing Game?”

The question catches Eddie off guard as he fumbles to hold up the book. “Yeah, I am.”

“Me too,” the blond says as he turns towards Eddie and pulls out a worn copy of the book out of his back pocket.

Eddie’s eyes are temporarily drawn to a red bookmark sticking out at the end of the book, before settling on the cover itself. The cover is different from his, but the title is the same.

Eddie has no clue what the odds are of this happening, but he’s more thankful than ever to May. Not only has the book been the perfect option for him to turn to occupy his free time, it’s also acting as a way for him to continue talking to this guy.

“How do you feel about it so far?”

It’s the perfect conversation starter and Eddie latches onto it right away.

“I’m really enjoying it,” he begins before diving into a more in-depth explanation of his thoughts.

He talks about everything from the characters to the storylines that took him by surprise to the theories he has for how the book will end. It all comes rushing out of him in a way that words usually don’t and he’s proud of himself up until the guy sitting across from him laughs.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, using his free hand to cover a smile. “I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”

Seeing as though there’s no one else around, it really feels like Eddie is being laughed at. It picks and prods at a deep-seated sense of inadequacy that he’d really rather not be experiencing on his day off.

“Was I rambling?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just, I never said how far into the book I was.”

Mortification seeps into Eddie’s veins in an instant, coursing through his body and making him warm all over. “I saw your bookmark placement and assumed...”

“I just put it in a random spot of the book so I wouldn’t forget it.”

“Oh.”

This is what Eddie gets for assuming, isn’t it? How does that saying go again? When you make an assumption, you make an ass out of you and me?

It’s safe to say that he has definitely made an ass out of himself.

“So, I just spoiled the entire book for you?” The guy doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. The answer is written all over his face. “Shit, I am so sorry. You came here to enjoy your book and instead you got stuck next to an idiot who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.”

“Hey, no it’s okay. Really. I liked hearing what your thoughts on the book are. Gives me a better idea of what I have in store for me when I start reading it myself.”

The smile on the blond’s face makes it seem as though he’s not annoyed but Eddie’s not convinced. Had someone done the same thing to him, he would be less than impressed. It’s why he starts packing up his things to go, making sure to put his book away first. The guy has reserved the right to enjoy some quiet time without Eddie there to disturb him anymore.

“I still can’t believe I did that.” Eddie stands up, slings his backpack over his shoulder and twists the fabric of his jacket in his hands. He’ll finish his book at home. “I’ll leave you to it.”

He gives an awkward wave and sets off in the direction of the car, all the while internally chastising himself for the foolish mistake.

“Wait!”

Eddie is tempted to ignore the command, but his still deeply ingrained army training makes it hard to do so. He stops walking and the guy is there, standing in front of him, only seconds later. He’s holding his book in his hands and Eddie tries not to cringe.

“You don’t have to leave.” Eddie is about to argue otherwise when the stranger adds, “I know you feel bad about the book. But what if you make it up to me another way instead?”

“And how would I do that?”

“You can take me out for coffee.”

Eddie can’t keep his jaw from falling open. Out of everything he was expecting the guy to say, this was the last thing he had in mind. “Huh?”

“Take me out for coffee,” he repeats, scratching the back of his neck. “Only if you want to.”

“I do,” Eddie answers, perhaps a little too quickly. “I’m Eddie by the way.”

“Buck.” It’s an odd name, but it’s something Eddie intends to comment on. “Now c’mon, that bench is big enough for the both of us and I know you’re dying to finish your book.”

Eddie (3:42pm): met a cute guy at the park and accidentally spoiled the book for him

Eddie (3:43pm): and then he asked me out for coffee

Eddie (3:43pm): also, i finished the book

May (5:02pm): we’re going out for lunch this weekend and you’re telling me everything (your thoughts about the book and this cute guy)

Eddie (6:00pm): you got it

Eddie is half-asleep on the sofa when the front door opens. He shifts at the sound, body too heavy to move into a sitting position.

“Eddie?”

“Hm?”

Feet move carefully across the hardwood floor and then there’s a body sliding into the space right in front of Eddie’s. It’s a tight squeeze, but Eddie wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You didn’t have to wait up for me,” Buck murmurs, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and kissing his forehead.

Eddie melts into his boyfriend’s arms the way that he always does. Even after two years together, the novelty of being held by Buck has yet to wear off.

“I wanted to.”

Eddie nuzzles against Buck’s neck, drawing a small laugh out of the younger man.

“Someone’s extra cuddly today.”

There was a time when a comment like that would’ve been enough to shame Eddie into pulling away and apologizing. This, being open with how much he craves affection, is something he’s worked hard towards since him and Buck officially became a couple though. Now that he’s allowed himself to have it, there’s no way he’s ever turning back. “I missed you.”

Another laugh. “I was only gone for a few hours.”

“A few hours too long.”

Buck starts running his hand up and down the length of Eddie’s back and that plus the silence around them lulls Eddie right back onto the verge of sleep.

“I have a confession to make.”

“Mhm?”

“I lied to you.”

The words are like a bucket of cold water, effectively waking Eddie up. He presses his back against the couch, earning himself an inch or two of space away from Buck. He tilts his head up, sees the guilt in Buck’s eyes, and feels his breath hitch.

“About what?” Eddie asks, hating how his voice cracks.

He trusts Buck implicitly and knows he’d never do anything to hurt Eddie, but that can’t stop fear from making a home in his heart.

Buck has to be able to feel how tense Eddie is but he stills his hand, keeping it pressed against Eddie’s back. It’s the anchor that grounds him, the only thing keeping him from running away from whatever it is Buck has to say like Eddie so desperately wants to.

“Remember that first day we met?”

Of course Eddie does. How can he forget the day that changed the course of his life forevermore? “Yes.”

“And how you thought you spoiled The Westing Game for me?”

“Yes.”

Years later, Eddie can still remember how mortified he was on that day when he realized what he had done. They’ve told the story many times whenever people ask them how they first met, and the story usually ends with a lot of laughter and Eddie hiding his face in his hands.

“It’s maybe possible that I withheld the truth just a little that day.”

“Withheld it how?”

Buck’s hand curls into a fist at Eddie’s back, a surefire sign that he’s nervous.

“You didn’t actually spoil it for me.”

Eddie must still be a little sleepy, that’s why Buck’s words don’t make sense. “What do you mean?”

“That wasn’t my first time reading The Westing Game.”

The admission takes a minute to register but, once it does, Eddie is left reeling. “Do you-does that-you mean I didn’t spoil it for you?”

“Technically no.”

“Technically?”

“That was my first time reading it in a couple of years, so I had forgotten a lot of the details you mentioned, but I did remember the way it ended.”

Eddie blames the late hour for his lack of filter and for saying what he does next.

“I want a divorce.”

Buck reels back like he’s been slapped and maybe, in a way, he has been. There’s hurt written in the lines of his face, but also understanding. It’s almost as if he was expecting this reaction. He opens his mouth to respond, to say what, Eddie isn’t sure. Because realization dawns on Buck and he says, “we’re not married.”

“Yeah I know.”

Buck uses the arm that is still slung over Eddie’s waist to do away with the small space between them and tuck Eddie against his chest. “You scared me for a second there.”

“You scared me too.”

“I’m sorry I lied.”

Eddie rests his hand right over Buck’s heart, feeling his accelerated heartbeat thrumming under his fingers. He closes his eyes again and lets it lull him back to sleep. “It’s fine. You can be the one to tell our family that you were so desperate to date me that you lied so you could ask me out.”

“I hate you.”

Eddie tilts his head up just enough to kiss Buck’s neck. “Love you too.”

Eddie (1:02am): buck’s been lying to me this whole time

May (10:02am): did he finally tell you about the westing game?

Eddie (10:55am): you knew??

May (11:02am): yeah he told me a year and a half ago

May (11:03am): i think it makes your meet cute even cuter

Eddie (12:02pm): i cannot believe this. deceived by my boyfriend and my pseudo-niece on the same day.

May (12:15pm): don’t be so dramatic

May (12:19pm): you, me, chris and maddie still going ring shopping this weekend?

May (12:20pm): i better not have interrogated your boyfriend about his taste in jewelry for nothing

Eddie (2:03pm): yeah, we’re still on for this weekend. I’ll see you then.

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fic #911 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #prompt fill #my writing #benjisvictor

24 notes · View notes

98prilla · 4 years

Text

Abductions, Past and Present

AO3

...

“Virg? You ok?” Patton asks softly, the black still flickering at his edges, and he sighs, shoving his hand through his hair.

“yeah. It just… it comes and goes so fast with them. One moment they’re fine, and the next they’re plummeting. I can’t brace myself for it.” Virgil replies, taking a deep breath in, and out, his form becoming more solid with each one.

Wraiths fed off negativity. Negative feelings, emotions, words, it gave them power. They could twist the dark to their will, bend shadows into monsters, could influence people’s thoughts and actions, and turn into shadowy, ghost like beings, hence the name ‘wraith’.

Virgil didn’t like feeding off of people’s misery, he didn’t thrive on it like others of his kind, didn’t relish all the myths and legends borne from his race. He rarely used his abilities, only if he or one of the others were in danger, though he tended to turn intangible when stressed or worried, going from his solid, humanoid form to a shadowy mass of smoke.

“They’ve been through so much. It’s only natural.” Janus replies softly, staring up at the ceiling. “They’re starting to trust us, though.”

“They’re starting to trust you and Patton. Remus doesn’t like me as far as he can throw me, and he flat out despises Logan.”

“No he doesn’t.” Janus interrupts, sitting up properly in the chair, eyes serious. “He doesn’t hate Logan, or you, for that matter. He’s afraid of you.” Virgil frowns, looking away.

“And that’s better?”

“Yes.” Both Janus and Patton say at the same time.

“it is. Because you can show them, every day, you can show them, that there’s no reason to fear you, and slowly they’ll start to trust.” Patton answers firmly.

“hate is harder to erase. It stains everything, it leaves no room for accidents or mistakes. Everything you do is malicious. Fear… can be unlearned so much easier. It allows for errors, it allows for apologies, it allows for growth.” Janus finishes, sighing and stretching as he stands, wincing slightly at the ache in his shoulder. It’s an old wound, long healed, but it still likes to act up every once in a while, usually when he’s stressed or worried, both of which he is now.

He sees too much of himself in the brothers, that’s his problem. He was young, when he was taken, had to be, else he would have known how to fight back properly, else his fangs would have been fully developed and with a single scratch he could have killed them all, but he was old enough to still have memories of his nest mates.

To remember warmth and comfort and a soft, lulling voice singing haunting melodies through the night. To remember the laughter of his siblings, of his cousins, of all the other children of the den, to know there had been squabbles and disagreements and play fighting and always, at the end of the night, they all curled together in a pile, sprawled across and under and over each other. They were so attuned to physical touch, needed it, needed the warmth it provided, both physical and mental, losing that had been its own kind of torture.

At least they have each other. He can’t even remember their names, let alone faces. All he has of his mother is that distant, soft crooning. All he has of his family is the faint feel of warmth. He wonders often if it would be better if he had nothing at all. He swallows hard, realizing Patton had asked him a question, and Virgil was looking at him with concern. He swallows past the lump in his throat, shoving back the emotions that come with these thoughts, because if he lets himself think a moment longer, they will overtake the tall, sturdy wall he has built in his mind to protect himself from the ache of almost memories.

“Janus… please.” Patton says, and he knows what he’s asking without saying it. Patton is asking him to stay, asking him not to run, asking him to talk about it, asking him for his full story, something he’s never really given, the curt summary of his history to Remus is all he’s ever told the others, but if he gives in to Patton, he won’t be able to hold it back. He won’t be able to pretend it wasn’t as bad as it was. He won’t be able to stop.

“I can’t… pat, I trust you with my life, but I… I can’t go back there. I can’t do it all again. That’s… that’s what saying it all would be, it would be doing all of it all over again, and I can’t…” He inhales shakily, nearly jumping out of his skin when Virgil takes his hand, turning him so they’re face to face.

“breath, Jan. In and out.” Virgil coaches softly, catching him at the edge of the abyss and slowly walking him back until the past fades away and he’s back in the present.

“I’m going to bed now.” He says, a bit flat, a bit distant, and without a second glance, he turns and walks away, closing and locking his door behind him, before he collapses on his bed and stares numbly at the ceiling, determined not to feel a thing, until he manages to fall asleep.

…

He can’t sleep. He doesn’t know why, he’s exhausted, he has been for nearly forever, but for some reason he can’t let it go tonight. That’s why he’s pacing the room, appreciating the soft glow of the ship, appreciating the lack of total darkness.

The door is open, and he keeps glancing down the hallway, as if expecting something to come attack, some monster to appear, some shadow demon to charge, though really, that’s basically Virgil. But the thought of being trapped, in this enclosed space, of the dark creeping in, is too much to bear.

He shivers again, because Virgil had apologized, about what he’d done, and meant it, and he understood, why Virgil had plunged him into that nightmare. He was protecting his family, and he understands that all too well, far too well to hold it against someone, but the residual fear still clings to him, adds another nightmare to his already long roster, and maybe he’s not sleeping because then he’ll have to experience all of it again.

He shakes his head, raking a hand through his hair, growling under his breath, because there’s too much energy, it feels like his legs are sparking with it, and this movement of pacing is barely holding it at bay.

Or maybe it’s the conversation from earlier, what Roman said, earlier, because despite all his reassurances, he knows Roman still blames himself for their getting taken in the first place. Which is stupid, incredibly stupid, but all his words will never dissuade Roman of that idea.

…

It wasn’t like they could have predicted it. They were camping, with their parents, an activity they did almost every weekend in the summer. Most times, they stayed close to home, just local county campgrounds with some hiking trails and jungle gyms, grilling out and sitting at a campfire telling stories until the moon was high in the sky. Those were the best, tired and sleepy, but still refusing to go to bed as the fire crackled, sending embers dancing through the air, while Dad read to them, Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter, any fantasy book they could get their hands on.

Usually once or twice a summer, they packed up for a longer trip, one of the cool state campgrounds up north, with real forests and towering trees and lakes, and an air of mystery that the small wooded parks just didn’t have. They always had sing a longs in the car, Disney and theater music, and twizzlers, road trip twizzlers had somehow become a tradition. Him and Roman bickered and fought on the three, four hour ride, and their parents laughingly broke it up, until they both eventually passed out, waking up when they arrived.

This had been one of those trips. Deep, actual forest, sleeping in tents, the smell of pine and earth and crisp air all day, it was his favorite thing in the world! It was the end of their second day there, which they’d spent hiking around the lake, trying to imitate bird calls, and he had been howling, trying to attract wolves all day, much to Roman’s dismay.

It was dark, when Roman shook him awake. They’d gone to bed early, tired out from their activities, so he wasn’t surprised to look at the battery powered clock in their tent to see it was only one am.

“Rem. Rem, did you see it?” Roman asked, shaking him again, and he lightly shoved Roman off of him, rubbing at his eyes.

“did I see what, Ro?” He asked tiredly. Roman’s eyes were huge as saucers, and he was practically vibrating with excitement.

“the fairy.” He whispered conspiratorially, grinning, the gap in his bottom teeth visible where he’d recently lost a tooth. They’d both gotten in trouble for that one, but Roman had said it was wiggling, so of course Remus had volunteered to pull it out!

“what? Ro, you were just dreaming, go back to sleep.” He replied, rolling his eyes. Roman was ten, his imagination wilder than Remus’s at times, and he sometimes had trouble telling what was real and what wasn’t. He was a proud adult, at thirteen, and didn’t believe in things like fairies anymore, though he always humored Roman. He hated upsetting his little brother more than anything, and he could tell he had now, as Roman’s lip trembled and tears welled in his eyes. He usually wasn’t this emotional, but he guessed the little guy was still a bit sleep deprived and grumpy.

“There is! I saw its light!” He bit his lip skeptically. The best thing to do was play along.

“Easy, Ro. I believe you did see something, just, are you sure it was a fairy, and not just someone else’s flashlight or distant fire, or something? You know fairies are very rare.” He added, so Roman wouldn’t be offended. Roman scrunched his eyes, thinking hard for a moment.

“No. it wasn’t either of those. I know what that looks like, Ree, this was blue!” He sighed, alright, no getting out of this, then.

“Ok. We can go check it out, quickly, alright? Put on your shoes, and we’ll look around. If we don’t see anything, will you go back to bed?” Roman nodded enthusiastically, already with one shoe half on. He grumbled and threw on a sweater, before quietly unzipping the tent door and stepping out into the night air.

It was cool, but not unpleasantly so. The ground was already slightly wet from dew, and it was very dark. He was careful to keep his flashlight pointed at the ground, away from the parent’s tent a few feet away, shushing Roman as he came out, zipping the tent closed.

“ok, Ro. Where did you see it?” He whispered, his voice sounding huge in the relative silence of the night. The trees swayed above in a soft breeze, and he shivered.

“over there!” Roman whispered back, pointing towards the edge of the site. Carefully, he walked towards it, aware of the crunch of old leaves beneath his feet as he shone his light around the edge of camp. He didn’t see anything. He didn’t hear anything, either, which was odd.

That’s why it felt so loud and eerie. There were no crickets chirping, no night birds calling, no ambient sound from animals foraging through the underbrush. It was completely, unnaturally silent.

He swallowed hard, taking a step back, suddenly regretting all of his wolf howling from earlier. What if he really had attracted a large predator? That would explain the lack of noise, and the eerie, prickling feeling of unseen eyes on him. There could be a wolf, waiting to pounce, or a cougar up in a tree, he’d heard stories of them attacking people, they were nearly invisible in the woods, or-

“There!” He saw a flash of light, bright and deep and blue, come from deeper in the woods, and before he could say a word, Roman was sprinting past him, chasing after the ‘fairy light’. He cursed, and took off after his brother, unwilling to leave him alone to get lost in the woods and attacked by a bear or whatever lurked around here.

“Roman! Wait up!” He yelled, panting, speeding up as he heard Roman let out a yell, cut short. “RO!” He screamed again, but something sharp pierced his neck and he staggered, head spinning, vision blurring as he lost balance and fell to the ground. He reached up and weakly pulled something that looked almost like a dart from his neck, shaking with effort as he crawled forwards, just managing to get to Roman before he blacked out completely.

When they woke up, they had been in the cell. That pitch black, empty, desolate cell. The only good thing was that they were together. But they were terrified and confused and alone, and Remus had to stay strong, he had to hold in his tears, he had to act brave, for Roman.

Over the years, they’d picked up the ‘Common’ as it was called, the language the different guards and scientists and Him spoke with, learned it on their own, though they’d never learned to read it. It hadn’t taken too long, for them to realize what was happening, that they’d been abducted, like in one of the scary movies they weren’t supposed to watch, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the stupid, aching, hope, that had lingered, strong and fierce for the first few days, the first few weeks, even, that they’d be let go. That’s what happened, in books and movies, the people were taken by aliens, and probed or whatever, and then put back on earth with no memory of what had happened. That hope had died a slow and agonizing death, over the months that turned to years, that turned to a decade of repeated, endless, horrors.

...

He shakes his head again, trying to clear it, trying to force back those memories, because they hurt, anything from before just hurts, and he’s never had time to think of it, before. He was always waiting for the next procedure or trap or experiment, always planning his and Roman’s survival, he’d never been allowed time to grieve or think or remember.

He tries to take a deep breath, and almost succeeds, swiping at his eyes. He feels wide awake, almost electrified, his every atom buzzing for movement, and he curls his hands into fists just so they stop shaking. He glances at Roman, who is still fast asleep, curled in bed, and sighs. Water, maybe some water will help. He’s been assured by Patton that the ship is open to him, day or night, that he’s free to eat or drink whatever he wants, that everyone shares responsibilities and chores and food on the ship, and he won’t get in trouble for using something. That doesn’t make it any easier, to cross the threshold of his room, his nerves on fire as he tiptoes past every door, holding his breath, jumping at every shadow until he makes into the common area. Again, the openness of it both soothes him and frightens him. There’s so many places to run, if he needs to, but so many places for enemies to come from, and he nearly jumps out of his skin as he hears a noise from the kitchen area, breath halting as he sees glowing silver eyes staring back at him, almost as startled as he is.

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mlmdarkfiction · 4 years

Text

Forgotten Promises (OC / OC)

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Ship: Ingram/Beowulf (Ingram is my OC, Beowulf belongs to a friend of mine with permission)

Content Warnings: Unrequited Love, Nondescript Mentions of Abuse by a Parent

Fic Preview: To be in this place.To be with him.Any doubts Ingram may have had about The Officers Academy were quickly squashed when he’d seen Beowulf again.

Author Comments: Ingram was my first Three Houses specific OC (not my first Fire Emblem OC) so he holds a special place in my heart. I plan to include him in the big multichapter FE fic I’m working on. He’s a lot more of a bitch than you see in this fic though, because Ingram with Beowulf is different than Ingram with literally everyone else. Also Ingram’s like..canonically a yandere so although this isn’t really what I consider to be his ‘canon’ outcome with Beowulf it’s still fun to think about how buckwild Ingram would get following this fic.

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Coming to Garreg Mach was everything Ingram had hoped it would be. It was somewhere for the Noble to grow and thrive away from the watchful eyes of his abusive parents. In the short months since his coming to the Academy he had excelled, learning everything he missed out on in his life locked away with only books to keep his mind occupied.

The only downside was the thought of Lionel, continuously coming to haunt him like a ghost. He thought of his brother often, in almost everything he did. Lionel, a star student with a promising future, and not to mention a magical prodigy baring their families crest. Ingram often wondered how often Professor Manuela saw Ingram, saw how he could barely cast a spell even if his life would depend on it, and wished it was Lionel she was teaching instead of him.

And though these thoughts often plague him, he only uses them to fuel the fire. Uses them to get stronger. To become his own person worth teaching. A person worth being.

The thoughts- The mental torment he puts himself through- They’re all worth it just to be here though.

To be in this place.

To be with him.

Any doubts Ingram may have had about The Officers Academy were quickly squashed when he’d seen Beowulf again.

When he’d seen Beowulf see him.

The way his childhood friends' eyes had widened in delight, how he’d ran to him lifting him into the air.

It was the reunion Ingram had been dreaming of.

It made up for the years of radio silence from both him and Claude that had started when they originally joined The Academy.

They remembered him. He wasn’t forgotten.

Truly that was enough to quell the resentment that had been brewing just beneath the surface.

Ingram remembers a promise they had made, just him and Beo, when they had been only young children.

He had been crying, as he always did when it was time for him to return home, and Lionel to return to school.

He always cried, because he knew as soon as the Holiday leave ended, once Beowulf’s brother and his own returned to Garreg Mach, that Ingram would be left alone with his parents for the rest of the year. “Iggy! Blue Bird!” And like he always did when Ingram cried, Beowulf panicked.

Ingram was Beowulf’s first real friend. He was different from Claude, who he had basically been born to protect.

Ingram was different.

Beowulf loved him.

At least as much as a child could love anyone.

“Don’t cry Blue Bird!” He’d clung to Ingram’s side as if his life depended on it, not relenting until the other boys sobs had died down into weak hiccups.

“I know you’re sad but...I promise you, when we’re older, and I’m bigger, and stronger...I’m gunna take you away and...we can get married!”

“Huh?”

Ingram hadn’t been able to question him, as, almost immediately the others lips were on his own. Beowulf didn’t care that Ingram’s lips were wet with tears and snot. It was a chaste, child's kiss, but it was still both boys first.

“I promise you, we’ll get married and I’ll save you. Okay?”

And he’d offered the sniffling boy his pinkie.

“Okay...Okay. It’s a promise, Beo!”

Yes, Ingram still remembered that day as clear as day.

That memory was what kept him going through everything, and it led him here.

Even if his parents had only sent him to The Officers Academy for their own personal gain, they also inadvertently returned him to Beowulf’s side.

Surely Beowulf remembered their promise. They had never spoken about it, never talked about it since Ingram had joined their class, but…

Surely Beowulf would never forget something so...so important.

The dam finally broke when Ingram had walked into class to see Claude and Beowulf flirting.

It’s not unusual. At least by Claude’s standards, it wasn’t uncommon to see the House Leader flaunting his stuff, but with Beo.

He was flirting with Beowulf.

Ingram’s chest hurt.

He turned around, he left, for the first time since arriving, he’d skipped a class.

The entire class period he spent his time steadying himself, after all, it was only flirting.

Flirting didn’t mean anything. Flirting didn’t mean Beowulf didn’t love him.

And Beowulf wouldn’t forget their promise, right?

Beowulf just doesn’t realize that Ingram loves him.

So he makes the decision, he’ll confess to Beowulf.

He’s seen it so many times in the books he reads, a young beautiful maiden confesses her love to her knight in shining armor, it would be the same.

Ingram may not be a beautiful maiden, and Beowulf not a real knight but it would be just like a fairytale ending.

It would be the first step to the happy ending Ingram had been dreaming of.

He doesn’t even have to wait long for this confession either.

Beowulf had noticed the lack of Ingram in their class, which naturally worried him, as soon as class had ended he’d booked his way to the dorms. He doesn’t even bother to knock, just opening the door to Ingram’s room.

“Oh.”

He blinks several times. Ingram was...fine. He was just sitting at his desk, reading a book.

Beowulf relaxes.

“You...weren’t in class.” He says softly, stepping into his room, and closing the door behind him. “Are you alright?”

There’s no response for a while, Ingram deep within his own head as he pretends to read. Finally though, he forces himself to look at Beowulf.

“Yeah sorry...I just lost track of time, I guess.” He offers his friend a smile.

“That’s not like you…” He’s frowning a bit, crossing his legs as he sits on the others bed. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He has to do this.

He can’t put it off.

“Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,”

“Anything.” It’s said without hesitation. So genuinely.

It makes Ingram’s heart beat faster in his chest.

“Beo I-”

No going back. “Beowulf I’m in love with you.”

Ingram see’s the confusion on Beowulf’s face, the dread already beginning to settle in his stomach, but he doesn’t stop. His feelings keep tumbling from his mouth in an unending stream of word vomit.

“I think I’ve probably always been in love with you. When we were kids, we said we’d get married, and if you’re still interested-”

That’s when he’s interrupted, a large warm hand reaching out and taking one of his, effectively silencing the smaller man.

“Ingram...that’s...really sweet.”

Tears are already making their way to his eyes. Beowulf’s only spoken four words, and yet, Ingram knows the denial, the refusal is coming.

“You’re my best friend. I love you. I really do. But I don’t love you like that.”

“Right.”

He’s crying. Ingram doesn’t know the last time he cried, and yet here is, in front of the person he loves the most, starting to cry his eyes out.

“Ingram- Blue Bird...I’m sorry.” And just like when they were children, Beowulf can’t stand seeing Ingram cry. He wraps his arms around him in a tight hug.

It doesn’t occur to him that he could be making things worse. That the comfort, the embrace, is only more taunting to the smaller man's broken heart.

The embrace makes him break down. Tears quickly turn to sobs, as he hides his face against Beowulf’s chest.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Wiping his eyes, Ingram starts to pull away from Beowulf. He doesn’t want to, he wants to cry and be pathetic and have Beowulf comforting him forever, at least that way he can pretend the other actually loves him.

“I just need some time to myself.”

Beowulf is reluctant to let him go. He knows the shaky smile Ingram’s giving him doesn’t reach his eyes, he knows there’s more he’s left unsaid, but...He nods.

The least he can do now is give Ingram some space.

“I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yeah, Beowulf. I’ll see you at dinner.”

#fire emblem oc #OC: Ingram Wachter #OCXOC #MY OCs #OC x OC #Fire Emblem: Three Houses #Fire Emblem 3 Houses Imagines #Fire Emblem: 3 Houses #FE: Three houses #Fire Emblem Three Houses #Fire Emblem 3 Houses

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the-archetype-of-civilization · 4 years

Text

Forgotten and Cast By the Wayside (Drabble/Vent)

I just woke up from a 3 hour nap, something that I should’ve been at least a little bit refreshed from (despite how embarrassing it is that I’ve slept for 3 hours and accomplished none of what I wanted/needed to do today), but I don’t feel that at all. I have a headache and me eating my dinner late didn’t make it go away.

I didn’t feel good today. Physically, I’m fine. Mentally? Not good.

Today I felt like crying at work today, so occupied with my own thoughts that I wasn’t sure if it was because I hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, because I barely slept at all, because I really was feeling my loneliness hard, or because it was all three.

I feel like I can control my emotions and know the difference of when I’m tired and hungry, because I would just be annoyed or hangry. I wasn’t. I was every bit as depressed and alone than how I was before.

I felt forlorn.

–

Ender stared at the coordinates for so long, he wasn’t sure if the image was burned into his brain for how long his eyes were glued to it. This was it. His past made real. And he really was considering to do it. What would he gain from this? What could he possibly achieve by going back? Reopening old wounds isn’t something that he (nor anybody, for that matter) would be comfortable doing at all. Especially one where it’s a dead planet.

He would see things that he didn’t want to see. Go to a place that he should never witness. Find things…that are best left buried. Was it worth all the trauma? Was it worth all of the pain he might inevitably endure?

He needed to confront it. Here and now.

Ender starts to flip up the switches as the Theseus’ engines and quantum entanglement reactor light up and hum to life. The door was opening. He pushes the lever forward as a large a blue portal opened up in front of him into another world of stars. He breathes out a heavy and shaky sigh as he pulls the ship through.

–

There’s a lot of things that I kept thinking about today that probably didn’t make things better (which is a great mindset to have, right?). One of them was an essay that a mutual sent to me about…what kind of person I am. I can assure you that none of it was good. I had it stowed away somewhere, to remind me never to forget that you can’t let people walk all over you, say whatever they want, nor think things for how they think you are when you really aren’t.

It was hard not to, I can assure you of that. What if they were right? What if I really was this awful person that was merely using them for my own gain? Back then, I was so upset to read that and the more that I thought about it, I had gotten so angry and rage-fueled. I wanted to scream at work, in my car even, because I was so angry at that. I wanted to scream so loudly that they would hear from where they were, to know how much needless pain they caused me when I showed them nothing but kindness. But…I’m glad that I received it, in the end. It showed that I did respect myself. That, in some way, I loved myself. And it made me grow as a person. I’m indebted to it, as painful as it was coming from someone that I admired and loved.

During those few months when I got a new job, things seemed to be going right and well for me (with its realistic downs, every now and then). I had been getting better pay, had some good friends and met new ones, I was starting to write a story on FanFiction that I was really motivated and happy to do, and, somewhere down the line, I was inspired to think about making my own video game (one that I had thought about and fleshed out in some way, shape, or form). Things were great.

Now? Not so much.

–

This was a mistake, he thought to himself. I should never have come here to this…hallowed ground. The planet was right there in front of him, covered in white and grey. No blue, no green, no brown, just those two mute colors that he fully well expected to see from a planet experiencing a nuclear winter that wouldn’t end for years to come.

Flying over the planet, he inches the ship ever closer like he was drawing out the inevitable. He made up so many excuses: would the ship be able to withstand the radiation? Were the shields strong enough to withstand it? Would his armor even protect him from the radiation plaguing the entire planet? The answer was yes, of course. But it didn’t make him all the more willing to go down, for reasons that weren’t because of what he listed.

As he inches close to the planet, the large and grey planet loomed in front of his windshield like a siren singing a haunting song to his doom. A cursed liturgy of the millions that perished during and after that accursed genocide. That needless genocide. The storms raged and swirled around on the planet’s surface unforgivably, blizzards burying and drowning out whatever life could ever live on the land. As Ender pulled the ship in closer to the atmosphere, the storms would continue to rage on, making Ender’s neck sweat hard and his brow drenched. His throat became dry, and yet he swallowed hard as he gazed at the many maws of the never-ending maelstroms that would open and close, waiting for him to jump in. Waiting for him to accept.

He hyperventilates a bit as he felt his head become heavy and lightheaded, holding his forehead as he felt the sweat form under his palms. This was a bad idea, something that he should never have done. He needed to turn back, to get away from this tainted planet as fast as he could and never come back. Feeling tears well up in his eyes, he looks down at himself. He needed to. He had to. He knew he had to. If he didn’t make peace with this…he’ll always be in perpetual torment of this place. Forever.

Wiping some stray tears from his face, he bites his whited lip as he grips the throttle and pulls into the gaping maws of the blizzard-ridden planet.

–

I don’t want to point this at anyone in particular (but then again, it’s not like they are on this website to my knowledge), but I could narrow it down to another individual that brought me my mental encumbrance. I remember I was writing my story on FanFiction and there was one reader that seemed to be interested and followed my story for a bit. But, one day, he decided that my silence on projects and lack of updates was the last straw for him, and he left a rather…brusque review. One that was very critical of my work and how I operated rather coldly and without any personal OOC comments on the progress of it.

Even if what he said about my story was true, it killed my mojo for writing. Completely. And it left me doubting myself and my work. While I did update and make an OOC post about my plans and the reviewer followed up with an apology, the damage was already done. And my mood and buzz for writing something that I loved and cherished was killed instantly, by some piece of shit twat that thinks his opinions on products were profound and of the highest mindset in terms of what FanFiction has to offer. But I think it killed more than just my writing, it killed everything else. It killed my sense of purpose.

I lost my motivation to do anything and everything. To be a better person, to keep myself on track, to do what I needed to do, to learn new things. I had forgotten and abandoned all of it over time once it was all taken away from me. I felt so worthless and I started to have pity myself again. Pathetic, right?

And where am I right now, you ask? Not any better than where I was before, I can tell you that much.

–

The ship shook and shuddered as it descended through the storms, hearing thunder and seeing snow flood his windshield. Thankfully, his ship was powerful and was able to withstand atmospheres that would tear humans apart in a matter of seconds. It didn’t make his descent any better. A part of him hoped that it would be so brutal and ruthless to control that he would leave, but his ship’s shields was taking all of it rather well. And it made a pit in his stomach.

There was no ground that he could see, even when he was below the clouds. The snow drowned and flooded his screen without mercy, the fog covering what landscape there may (or may not) have been. And the more he perused and observed the surface, the more dread he began to feel. He drew closer to his coordinates by the minute and it felt so wrong.

The closer he got to his destination, the more unrecognizable the land around him became. There was no familiar valley or hills that he had grew up on, no houses, no trees (of course not), no anything that would even remotely remind him of this once…sacred place. And he only knew that things were just going to get worse, his head and body starting to sweat as he felt himself whimper a bit with every moment he was here. This was true agony for him. Merciless trauma.

Once he had arrived, he lands the ship as his right leg was bouncing on the floor impatiently and nervously. This was the worst idea he could’ve possibly come up with and decided to do. He storms out from the helm as he was panting intensely from whatever await him outside. Putting on his armor he heads out to the landing pad and looks at the switch. He stares at it for so long, knowing that only pain and anguish would await him outside. His armor could brave the weather…but he wasn’t strong enough to find what lay ahead. He knew it for a fact.

…I’ve come this far…

He pulls the switch as the nuclear winds flooded through the dock.

Today was something that I felt hard. Something that I thought I was better at ignoring and knowing fully well wasn’t the truth. But it was something...that seemed tangible to me, and something that drew a horrible realization. I felt so alone, today. I care about people way too much more than others do about me. I tried messaging some friends on Discord, hoping that they were doing well. They replied...but that voice in the back of my head is too convincing for my own good.

It felt like I was bothering them, annoying them with my presence. They probably had better things to do and wanted to be left alone by some stupid idiot that was being an annoyance on their lives.

Whether this was true or not, it hit me that...I don’t think anyone really cares. No one cares. About me. I had never felt more mortal and alone than in those moments at my work. That, truly, my presence didn’t matter to anybody or my friends. Don’t mistake this as suicide, because I would never do that. But...if I disappeared tomorrow, would anyone really notice? Would anyone ever look for me? Would anyone actually care that I was gone? How long would it take before they noticed that I’m not there anymore? Not just on Discord, but on Tumblr. Does anyone really care?

My existence is fleeting and I don't see a point of me being here. Why am I here? And it was at that moment that my suspicions about myself were true: I’m just a forlorn, forgotten, unwilling hermit. I try to help and console as many of my friends and strangers as I can, because it’s what I enjoy doing. I enjoy making people happy and trying to help them through their problems. But they are so quick to move on with their lives...that I’m left behind. And that’s all I’ll be good for: a counselor.

I’ll still be in my cold, empty, barren head even when I invite myself over to other people’s problems. My sense of purpose and belonging only happens when I rudely invite myself into helping other people and initiate conversation first. And although there are a small few that would take the chance and the time to talk to me, it still feels like they do it out of principle rather than because of genuine interest. No one would even bother to talk to me first, invite me to places first, or join in on my sessions willingly.

I haven’t felt more forsaken or abandoned in my life.

“Radiation levels: extreme. Adjusting radiation intake” his armor computer chimed.

Ender didn’t feel anything when the winds blew through. And the blizzard quickly piled up near the end of the landing pad. But it didn’t worry him...his head was filled with too many other worries than something as trivial as this. He takes a step forward, then pulls it back as he sighs heavily. He had to. He just had to.

He takes a few steps forward and continued to slowly walk until he was outside. The blizzard and winds lightly pushed and rolled over him, but that was thanks to his armor. If he didn’t have this on, it would have sent him flying. He looks around him, seeing the grey snow-covered landscape of the familiar hills and valleys completely changing whatever it may have been before.

Home.

The grey clouds and storms coated the entire horizon all around around him, seeing nothing but a barren wasteland with no sky or stars to be seen here. Hallowed ground, indeed. Ender pulls out his wrist pad to find the coordinates. It was a short walk away. And God, did he want to retreat. But he had already come this far...he had to make his amends.

Trudging through the snow, he makes his way over to that place...his house. The very place where he was born and raised in. Looking up from his wrist pad, there was nothing of the sort here. No house, no anything. Just a pile of snow that had covered this now hundreds-of-years old planet. He felt some tears well up in his eyes as he looked at it. His home was gone, this place buried under the weight of a world that refused to move on. A world that refused to accept humanity and ignore their menial and needless gripes against one another.

Ashen snow of a dead planet.

He goes over to where his house would be as he takes a knee and leans his head down. Nothing here to remember what this place was when the nukes dropped. Nothing at all. And it hurt him, to know that his past, his childhood, whatever made him happy, was completely burnt away to a crisp and buried under this cursed snow. He sighs shakily as some tears coursed down his cheek.

Ender gently places his hand on a part of the snow as he hangs his head down. He missed them. He missed his family so much. His mom, his dad, and his sister. They had all wasted away here...what happened when the missiles were coming? Did they brace themselves? Did they try to hide? What did they do?

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you guys...I’m...I’m so sorry...” he muttered and barely could speak out, his eyes welling up even more as he hung his head lower.

Then...he felt something under his hand as it sunk into the snow. Something solid. Tangible.

I was weak.

And I still am. I let these stupid emotions get to me when I know better than to let it happen as it has so many times. It’s hard for me to control my emotions when I’m...so emotional, you know? I really feel things for people, sometimes overtly and sometimes not so overtly. Not many people would agree with me on that, I’m sure, but I’m telling you how I see myself.

I hate myself so much, sometimes. I hate that I care so much. I hate that I let myself get this way, just venting and talking about shit that no one couldn’t give less of a shit about. I hate using a story that I’ve wanted to write for a while about my muse (my Gary Stue, honestly) as an excuse to vent over shit that I’m sure many have glossed over.

It’s pathetic.

But it’s the only way I know how to be upfront and honest with people. And...I wanted to create something different, experimental. To see how I would feel about writing a pivotal plot point with my muse, as well as myself, I suppose. I enjoy writing stories, but who reads them? Much like the death of Keats, who mourns for Adonais? I’m not proclaiming myself to be anything special of the sort, but who cares? No one does. I just talk into a void, hoping that it’ll answer back. And it might not ever.

Ender is a muse that I really care for, one that I feel like I’ve grown up to be like almost as much as he has with me. But we all like to roleplay as those that we are not, right? He gets all the ladies (with their permission and consent, of course), he travels and goes to wherever he wants endlessly, and he gains friends and lovers wherever he goes. I don’t believe that I’m that at all. I’m not bold, I’m not brave, I’m not flirty, I’m not saucy, I’m not adventurous, and I’m certainly not strong. I’m me, the same person I’ve been for 9 years since I’ve made this blog.

I’m still me...

What was this under his hand? It felt...soft, but also hard. It was bizarre, but also frightening. Perhaps a piece of debris? Ender grabs onto it firmly and pulls it out from the snow. It was a decent clump of something, covered in snow of course. But he couldn’t make out what it was. A rock?

He starts to brush it off to see what it was. The more he brushed it, the more he saw of what it was.

Sometimes I’m not proud of this blog or my muse, either. I feel like he can be a one-trick pony for smut. But I enjoy smut. I enjoy loving and being loved. Also, it’s fun. Because it’s something that I’ve only experienced doing a few times in my miserable 25 years. And I enjoy doing something that promotes pleasure and happiness, rather than something depressing, something that can hurt you, or something that can destroy you. It’s also why I like fluff. It makes me happy to see him and the other happy.

He started to brush it more and notices...tendrils? What? That didn’t make sense. He brushes it some more and started to see that it was...hard. Hard, but not rocky. It was something else. And it was interlocked and linked to something as well. He started wipe it off some more until he slowly started to realize what it was.

Why am I still on this blog? It feels like I always invite myself to RP with others that don’t really care or RP with me out of principle sometimes. It feels like I’m bothering them, especially given the track record that my blog has. Forget about RPing with canon blogs, something that I always want to do and would like to see myself get involved it. But it’ll never happen, because...well, OC. And a self-insert, for all intents and purposes. And I'm still wary about asking to RP with other OCs because of said track record. You only need to scroll a little to see what I'm famous for (or INfamous for, I should say). It's dumb.

It was a hand. A skeleton hand. And it was...holding another hand. Ender felt his heart sink and tears started to well up under his eyes.

“...m...mo...mom? Da...dad?” he could barely utter out.

There was a small, deeply burnt sear on the ring-finger of one of the hands.

I don’t know why I’ve continued for this long...

“N...No...oh...oh God...oh my God...oh my God!” he sobbed out quietly until he holds the hands tightly and presses it to his helmet. He felt the tears streaming down his cheek as he sobs hard, pressing his helmeted forehead to it, hoping to feel something. But the glass protected him from whatever radiation it surely housed. To have something be between him and his parents...it was painful. He presses a kiss against his helmet as he presses the joined hands to his helmet, but he couldn’t feel anything. He hoped they did. It only made it worse for him.

His sobs descended into screams of pain and sorrow, wanting to drown out the bitter storm that drove on around him. He wanted to scream over this blizzard that flooded all sounds around him. He wanted to scream against this dead planet so it could be heard around the world. He wanted to scream so that his family could hear it in the next life...if one existed.

He wanted to be heard.

But nothing did.

#ooc #out of continuum #drabble #vent #venting

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wiseabsol · 5 years

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WA Reviews “Dominion” by Aurelia le, Chapter 1: Hell

Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6383825/1/Dominion

Summary: For the Fire Nation royal siblings, love has always warred with hate. But neither the outward accomplishment of peace nor Azula's defeat have brought the respite Zuko expected. Will his sister's plans answer this, or only destroy them both?

Content Warnings: This story contains discussions and depictions of child abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, sexual abuse, and incest. This story also explores the idea that Zuko’s redemption arc (and his unlearning of abuse) is not as complete as the show suggested, and that Azula is not a sociopath (with the story having a lot of sympathy for her). If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, I would strongly recommend steering clear of this story and my reviews of it.

Note: Because these were originally posted as chapter reviews/commentaries, I will often be talking to the author in them (though sometimes I will also snarkily address the characters). While I’ve also tried not to spoil later events in the story in these reviews, I would strongly recommend reading through chapter 28 before reading these, just to be safe.

Now on to chapter 1!

CHAPTER 1: HELL

Hey there, Aurelia!

I’ve finally decided to start my “Dominion” reread and reviewing spree! Or at least what I hope will be a spree; this might take a while, knowing me. I’d meant to give you my comments on chapter one a few days ago, but then I kept reading past it, and by the time I read chapter six, I realized that chapters one through five are really just one chapter split into five parts. Ideally, I would like to cover them all in one to reflect that, but once I started writing the review for the first chapter, it turned out too long for me to do that. So I’ll just do this chapter by chapter, like I’d originally planned!

Let’s start with the first line - “Have you found her yet?” Its repetition was largely the reason why I think chapters one through five were meant to be read in one sitting, despite their length. They flow together well due to it, making for a solid prologue. The action proper doesn’t start until chapter six, which I’m now considering chapter two in my head because of this. What I’m trying to say is, you did a good job on making your introduction so engaging to your audience that they can be 50,000 words into “Dominion” and not realize that the main story hasn’t even started yet. I find that very impressive!

Anyway, in the present day, Zuko is being a lurker at his own party and reminiscing on Azula’s progress (or lack thereof) in the asylum that he tossed her into. Which is a harsh way for me to put it, but here’s the thing. When I originally read this story, I was sympathetic to Zuko, since I was just coming off the show. My impression back then was that Zuko became…less sympathetic…in chapter seven of this story, and his behavior afterwards made getting through his sections feel like scrubbing my face with sandpaper.

Now that I’m a more critical reader, I’ve realized that Zuko was behaving…less than heroicly, shall we say…from the very start. And I don’t quite know if that is your interpretation of the character at work, either, because Zuko never struck me as out of character in this story. None of the characters do. But I would definitely say that the version of him here is more flawed and troubled than the show probably intended. That being said, given that this story is for an older audience and that it’s meant to be a deconstruction of Zuko and Azula fanfic, I also think that is appropriate.

Which is my long way of saying that I’m now going to gleefully call out Zuko’s shenanigans in this, even though I enjoy him as a character, both in the show and in this story. Because if there was ever a character who fit the trope of the Designated Hero, it’s Zuko.

Before I do that, though, I wanted to mention this little thing that I enjoyed: the description of the now teenaged Toph “barking” with laughter at one of Sokka’s jokes. It was one of the first details that gave me a sense of how much time had passed between the show and the start of this story, and it fit those characters well.

Moving back to Zuko. I can’t help but think that he’s a bad brother for visiting his sister only once. I get why it would be hard on him, but he still sucks for that. I do find myself grateful that he decided to not visit in his Fire Lord clothes, though, given what we learn in later chapters. That would have been awkward at the very least. And you know what else is awkward in retrospect? This fun line: “He wished she would curse him, or lie to him, or put him down, or dig her sharp nails into his skin.” Be careful what you wish for, Zuko.

“It seemed she was determined to remain utterly unreasonable when it came to the subject of their mother.” Excuse me? Zuko, you both know that Ursa didn’t love your sister. How can you blame Azula for feeling bitter about that? Though I suppose blaming her is second nature to you….

Ugh, just thinking about how Ozai might have punished Azula for asking after her mother makes my skin crawl. Her brother doesn’t even ask her what that punishment entailed, either. And you know, I’ve just accepted it as my headcanon that Ursa didn’t say goodbye to Azula before she left, which I suspect is due to how well it works in this story. Namely, Azula recalling how her younger self saw Ursa say goodbye to Zuko, and then went to her room and waited for the same thing, is one of the most deeply painful things I’ve ever read. And I’ve read the rest of this story, so I know there is comparable heartbreak later on. It makes me want to hug Azula, even though I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate it.

And then Zuko wants to shake Azula out of her breakdown and I go from wanting to cry to wanting to scold him, because you don’t do that! You don’t shake people! There’s never any reason for it and you could hurt them!

Moving on, the description of Azula’s broken laughter is beautiful. I adore the turns of phrases and comparisons you come up with in your writing, Aurelia. But then, uh…Zuko gets a commanding tone and seizes Azula’s face, and I’m pretty sure she mistakes him for Ozai in that moment, considering that face- and neck-touching seem to evoke that reaction in her later on (especially neck touching).

Also…(sigh)…Zuko, when Azula says things that you don’t like, such as there never being anyone there with her, please don’t make her pain all about /you/. I feel like the normal reaction to that would be to feel bad for your lonely and hallucinating sister, not feel offended on your own behalf. Ugh, he’s just so self-absorbed!

What an awkward scene for the doctor to walk in on. That face-touching is a little too intimate for siblings. Azula’s tart response that yes, she can still breath fire, makes me laugh, by the way. She’s always going to be the best firebender around and I adore her for it (though there are many other things about her to love, such as her sarcastic wit). As such, muzzling her, while it makes sense in this context, makes me seethe. In the words of one of my friends, who I got to binge-read this a few months ago, Azula is a crispy cinnamon roll and deserves to be treated better than this!

Moving on. When Zuko says “I am the Fire Lord,” all I can think of is Tywin Lannister’s disdainful comment that a man who has to say that he is the king is no true king at all. I feel like Azula is thinking something along those lines, too. Also, this whole bit about Azula at least having her father’s love, but Zuko not being sure that that was a good thing – well first, Zuko, I’m not convinced that Ozai is capable of loving someone, and second, no, it was definitely /not a good thing/!

“I never hated you” – I think that might be the greatest instance of self-delusion in this room, Zuko, and I’m saying that while your sister is hallucinating. Azula’s line following that, where she says that they each had what the other wanted most, and that they could have been a whole person together – that’s a haunting one. It also encapsulates the conflict of the story and central character dynamic between these two, so kudos on that!

Ugh, the next few paragraphs are ugly thoughts for Zuko. “He would protect her” – this reads as sweet, until you realize that that’s probably the only way he feels comfortable around her: when she is in a position of dependence upon him and not a potential rival. Then he thinks the “Azula always lies” refrain and a part of me is like, “Really? I’m pretty sure she tells the truth more often than not, but YOU don’t like it, so you try to deny it instead!”

Then he tells her, “I chose right,” which is so condescending that I want to kick him in the face. “Right” is a matter of perspective, and it’s easy to claim that you were right when you were on the winning side. Obviously the war needed to end and Ozai needed to be stopped, but it’s not as if Azula is wrong in her assessment of Zuko’s decisions towards the end of the war. From her perspective, he betrayed their nation and their family and was rewarded for it with a crown. I can’t imagine that that feels “right” to her, considering.

Azula then raises the idea of being lobotomized, which makes everything inside of me shriek with horror. Fortunately, Zuko has the same reaction, because he doesn’t even consider it. We then get Azula’s line of “What I want doesn’t matter, if it ever did,” and I cry forever remembering what we learn in later chapters. Zuko’s response to her makes me scoff, because clearly Azula wouldn’t be in an asylum if he was willing to give her what she wanted. Him claiming that he’ll come back is also painful, since we know he’s only visited her one time as of this chapter, and it’s been years since that visit.

“The man pinning her down was as powerfully built as their father, and seeing Azula at his mercy – It didn’t seem right.” Excuse me while I fight the urge to throw up from the comparison, Zuko. As for his reaction to her screaming that no one would have her – again, he’s making it about himself, thinking that /she/ is rejecting /him/. He’s missing the point entirely.

Just another little note, but I like that one of the guards has dark skin. It’s nice to have some diversity among the unnamed characters.

After that, Zuko concludes that Azula is going to be in the asylum for the rest of her life, because it doesn’t seem like the doctors could be of much help, and she appears to be getting worse. I would call this a hasty conclusion to jump to, since it’s only been a few weeks since her nervous breakdown. However, given the limited understanding of mental illness in this world, I can see why he would make that assumption. We readers, of course, know that that can’t be the case – that there wouldn’t be a story if Azula didn’t recover enough to be functional in society – but seeing how she gets there is part of the journey.

In any case, those are my thoughts on chapter one! I’m looking forward to going over chapter two soon! Best of wishes to you, Aurelia!

Sincerely,

WiseAbsol

#WiseAbsol #Azula #Avatar: The Last Airbender #Dominion by Aurelia le #Fanfiction #Review

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comeondowntosouthparkrpg-blog · 6 years

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Kenny McCormick

Oh my god, they brought Kenny back! You bastard! Kenny has been accepted! Please submit your blog and a faceclaim to be featured on the main blog!

Name/Alias: Kit / Java Pronouns: They / Them Age: 20 Join Our Discord: Yes Timezone: EST USA Activity: 7-8 Triggers: Uhh…not much really offends me Password: Watersports Character that you’re applying for: Kenny McCormick Favourite ships for your character: Bunny

in character info

Full name: Kenneth “Kenny” McCormick Birthday: March 22 Sexuality, gender, pronouns: He/Him, Genderfluid Pansexual Age and grade: (They main cast is in senior year, so about 17 or 18)(Going with this one) Appearance: Kenny is pretty rugged but is usually seen as the “pretty boy” by his class mates due to a bit of feminine behavior. Tends to wear black eyeliner because it brings out his “blue eyes” that everyone insists are some shade of purple. Keeps his hair on the long side due to Karen’s influence saying it makes him look like a “pretty princess”, he’s pretty tall probably the tallest of the boys in class and with a slight muscular build due to enjoying activities like basketball and kickboxing in his spare time, -not to mention his vigilante activities- has some minor scars from past accidents he didn’t just outright die from, as well as having a history of self harming behavior he’s trying to put an end to. Also has the cutest damn tooth gap + freckles in the history of forever. Personality: Kenny is friends with everyone in town, he’s known to be very open and accepting of other peoples choices whether it’s religion, gender, or sexuality. Kind hearted he does not tolerate other people being bullies.Altruistic in the way he would actively -and has- put himself in harms way to protect his friends and family. He’s also a huge pervert and is in no way shy about it, although sometimes he makes people uncomfortable so is always sure to back off if someone seems to be taking it the wrong way or finds it offensive. Not much of a guy who gets in fights but God help you if you piss him off, Kenny is pretty hard to get angry but if you were to hurt someone he cares about you might want to run. Also a huge lover, you sad? you alone? he will be out there in five minutes to give you a hug, he will 100% support you and be there for you with icecream and blankets. History: Kenny was born and raised in South Park, not really much to travel due to the lack of expendable income, he’s basically worked his entire life in some way or another to make sure that even if his parent’s can’t provide that Karen and Kevin get something to eat, sometimes going as far as not eating since he knows in the worst case scenario, he’ll come back, but they wont. However this has taken a toll on him over the years, knowing that at any minute something terrible could happen and result in his eventual death haunts him pretty badly, in some ways he kind of hopes that it’ll be the last time this happens. It’s hard for him to really get close to people because of this, he’s not sure if the hardest part is actually dying, or watching the people he loves watch him with horror as it happens over and over again. He tries to stay positive though and has become determined to do something with his life, even if it might be hard and unpredictable. A modest job and a modest life is all he’s really looking for, maybe someday move out of the hell hole that is South Park, or maybe just get through school, pick up a trade, and provide for whatever family he has later in life. Even if the future isn’t as bright as it could be he really wants to make the best of it. Hopefully he won’t have to do it alone. Sample paragraph: Kenny looked down at his watch tapping his foot almost in rhythm of the ticking hands, it was nearly 3:00, any moment now Butters should be getting out of his classes, unless he had practice today, shit, did he? Kenny shook his head and took a long drag on his cigarette before tossing it out of the window. Leaning back and blowing out a billow of smoke he reached into his pocket to check his phone for any updates. Nothing, oh well. Worst case scenario he’d be waiting for an hour or two but still be able to pick Butters up to give him a ride home, best case scenario they could spend a little time together before anyone noticed they were missing. Kenny laughed to himself, yeah that would be fun, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It was a school night after all. Headcanons: I personally like the headcanon @sleepypigeons wrote about Kenny having D.I.D, I also headcanon that due to his disassociation he occasionally self harms to in a way check if he’s alive or not by whether or not he feels pain. Anything else: Listen, I am labeled an edgelord by every server I’ve ever been a part of because I make people cry due to feels from my art work to stories, so be forewarned I intend to get deep and emotional :D

#kenny mccormick #accepted #admin sam #submission

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lamerdeseslarmes · 7 years

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Silent Lies

Mabel falls head over heels in love almost every week. Stan shrugs it off -Dipper and her are just kids, and who hasn't had an awkward crush when they were twelve ? (Stanford didn't.) Dipper tries not to show it but it frightens him, his sister's ability to love someone at first glance, to become obsessed with them like this, finally to move on quickly. (He's still not over Wendy, but he won't admit it.) He cares for Mabel, and doesn't want her to get hurt.

As for Stanford, he says nothing. The others never ask for his opinion on this, at least. But Stanford sees it all, and says nothing. It's easier this way. So when Mabel asks him if he's even been in love, Stanford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your grand-niece, whose biggest dream is to have a summer romance, that yes, you did fall in love once.

You fell in love once, and the world almost ended.

Mabel pouts, but she doesn't insist. Yet, somehow, there's something in her eyes, a glimmer of understanding that should definitely not be there. Mabel hugs him and Stanford can feel himself shudder, because Bill, Bill was so warm too, in the quiet of the mindscape.

They burn the artefacts, all of them. They watch them burn, all of them, and they roast marshmallows with the fire. They laugh, all of them, and it's the best evening Stanford has ever had in... (something like thirty years, whispers a vicious voice in his mind.) Forever. The best evening he's ever had in forever.

The best evening. In forever. With his family. And Stanford laughs and he fits in there, with Stan and Dipper and Mabel, even with Soos and Wendy. He belongs there, he knows it.

Bill's all-seeing eye burns in the night, till nothing's left but ashes. And Stanford knows Dipper double-checked after him, to see if Ford didn't hid one of his many (too many, not enough) Bill related objects. The lack of trust should make Ford uneasy, but no. Dipper is right. Dipper is right and goes as far as to scratch away every tiny Bill Ford engraved into the walls, carved onto the floors. The boy's eyes glow with panicked fervor as he goes on with this task. Dipper knows better than anyone what harm Bill can do, how dangerous Bill can be. (Lies. It's all l i e s. Stanford knows better.)

So they burn the artefacts, all of them, and Dipper silently asks Ford if he hasn't concealed one of them, somewhere else. Ford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your grandnephew, whose biggest fear is a dream demon now forever haunting his nightmares that yes, there are more.

There are more of them that you branded into yourself, carved in your own skin with quiet devotion, and they make your heart burn, burn into the dead of the night.

Ford smiles and ruffles Dipper's hair. His nephew looks at him with admiration, and Ford can feel himself shudder because he knows this look, he knows it. He used to look at Bill with the same adoration in the eyes, too.

Smart guy, Bill says. (smartguygeniusbrainiaciqbrilliant m i n d--) Ford wakes up to the feeling of black silk-like arms touching him. His mouth is dry, his throat tight. Slowly, he puts a six-fingered hand over his mouth, nails scratching slightly at his stubble. His hand is calloused and feels rough, nothing like how Bill's inhumanely soft fingers used to feel against his heated skin all those years ago. Ford closes his eyes, tries to fight back the memories of Bill that surround him.

He remembers how Bill would possess him, how they had learnt to share his body, how Ford relished in having the control taken away from him. Unconsciously, his lips have started moving against his fingers. (He remembers how he used to kiss his own hand, the one Bill had control over. He remembers how good it felt, to be this intimate with a god, his god. How he felt his own breath hitch, more heated than before.)

Then Ford bites down, hard, and blood trips on his shirt. Everything was a lie, and he shouldn't delude himself further. Hasn't he already made a fool out of himself long enough ?

The day after, he'll tell Stan that he fought off a monster (that's Gravity Falls for you, right?!). Stan's eyes will narrow, but he'll say nothing.

But for now, as he tries to fall asleep again, his wounded hand clutched on the fabric of his shirt, right over his heart, Ford knows that he has lost.

…

He falls asleep soon after, a shy smile on his bloodied lips, hollow praises echoing through his mind.

The two brothers spend a lot more time together now. They don't fight anymore, and the bitterness has gone. (Well. Mostly. It isn't visible anymore at least.)

(Stan still wakes up shivering at night, convinced that Ford resent him, that Ford never loved him.) (They're just thoughts, he tells himselfs. Nightmares.)

Stan is glad to have his brother back. Ford is glad his brother regained his memories. Most of the time, they make it work. But once in a while, one of them slips. Memories from another time haunt them. Stan isn't sure they're even real. Ford knows they're too real, and they taste like regret.

“Hey Sixer”, Stan says. And sometimes Ford's eyes widen, his smile shatters and his hands tighten into fists. “Hey bro, is something wrong ?” Stan worries.

Ford shakes his head, faking a smile he hopes convincing. Stanford says : no. The lie is easy. Easier than to tell your twin brother, who sacrificed himself for his family, for you, because he loves you more than anything, that you hate this name now.

You hate this name now, because Bill tainted it, Bill went as far as to ruin your childhood memories.

Ford says nothing, listens to his brother, to his rapsy voice that's nothing like Bill's. Bill's voice, as annoying as it really were, sent shivers of pleasure down Ford's spine, and Bill called him Sixer and touched him and it was perfect.

Everything is calm in Gravity Falls now. Sure, there are still some weird occurrences sometimes -gnomes stealing pies, a triple-headed bear blasting off Disco Girl so loudly the entire forest can hear- but that's about it. Nothing too weird, nothing out of the ordinary. And it's fine, truly.

For the first time in thirty years Stanford doesn't have to run, doesn't have to watch his back. Days in Gravity Falls are sunny, filled with Mabel's laughter and Dipper's last discoveries.

And Bill is dead.

Bill is dead and finally Ford can sleep without fearing the demon will haunt his dreams. Bill is dead and they burned everything.

Sometimes Ford still flinches, though. Because of a sudden noise like an echo of laughter in the woods, or a triangular shaped hole in a tree. But Bill's All-seeing Eye is closed forever now, and Ford is safe.

… It is hard to believe he is truly free of Bill. Hard to believe that it's finally over, after all these years. His brother sacrificed himself for them all, and he saved them all.

And Bill is dead and the days are bright and slow, perfect and uneventful.

Isn't this life boring ? He asks himself.

Stanford says : no. Nobody can hear him now, nobody will ever be able to hear his thoughts again. But he says no, of course he's not bored, he loves everything about this life. If he says it loud enough maybe he will convince himself. Maybe one day he will truly feel this way.

So the lie is easy. Easier than to admit that you're bored. Bill is dead and you didn't even get to kill him yourself. Bill is dead and the only thing you've got now is a statue in the woods. (He thought about desecrating it, once. He will do it, one day.)

The truth is that Stanford Pines is bored and wishes he had something to look forward to.

(you lost, Ford. D'you really think you could get rid of me this easily ? Calm down buddy ! I don't wanna ruin it for ya but it's a bit too late, don'tcha think ? Oh, you can say whatever you want. That you don't love me anymore, that you never loved me, you hate me, you wanna kill me, yadda yadda. I don't care, Stanford. Thing is : you lost. Because guess what ? For more than thirty years I've been the only thing on your mind, Fordsy. Doesn't matter if it's because you wanted to annihilate me. The result's the same : now I'm gone and you're bored. Don't worry though, Ford. Not everything I say is a lie ; you're really gonna die at ninety-two. So, think you can bear to live so many years without me ?)

This is no good this is no good this is no good-

Ford can't recall the last time he heard Bill's voice inside of his head. He knows he's dreaming it, he has to be, because Bill's fucking dead and he won't come back, never

(Hey Ford, do you miss me yet?)

Stanford says nothing. It's only been a few days, and he's already tired of lying. His entire mind begs him not to answer, to laugh at Bill -like he should, because Bill isn't even there anymore, Bill is d e a d and

“Yes.”

Everything is quiet. Ford's heart is hammering inside his chest. He expected Bill's laughter to taunt him. But everything is silent.

Oh. Yeah. Right. Bill can't answer him after all.

If you made this far, thanks !! I actually wrote this some months ago, but I was wondering if I should add some other scenes in it (I decided against it) so that’s why I’m only posting it now. English isn’t my first language so it was a bit of a challenge -hopefully there aren’t too many mistakes left. But I had a lot of fun writing it, so I can only hope you liked reading it too !! -^^-

#billford #gravity falls #stanford pines #bill cipher #fanfiction #perl writes

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clarespace · 7 years

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fic: to prove it so

[obi-wan/anakin] pg. 3511 words.

‘Then it was real, my Padawan.’

Anakin shudders. He hasn’t heard Obi-Wan call him that in decades. It is beyond his comprehension that he could be here, held close as if he is still precious to the one he callously threw away to call another as Master.

‘How?’ asks Anakin, persistent.

‘You’d have to ask Master Yoda for specifics, but I believe there is this thing called the Force that guides each and every one of us – ’

Anakin laughs for the first time in so long; it hurts and fills him up with a strange mix of joy and despair.

a/n: for the obikin week 2017, which i just realised was happening. two prompts for the price of one - regret and second chance. title taken from light by sleeping at last (give it a listen, it’s utterly obikin). i hope you like this.

ao3 or

Death feels like taking his first breath in decades.

It’s also dark.

Quiet.

Alone.

Perhaps the Force has finally forsaken him. After all, what is a moment’s goodness compared to nearly a lifetime of evil? But there had been hope for him at the end, when his Masters had come, and Obi-Wan had given him a smile of – of –

Anakin doesn’t know. It’s been forever since he can think of his Master without suffocating in rage and hate, and even longer to remember what he once was like without emotions clouding him. Where is Obi-Wan’s ghost now? Probably in the afterlife he deserves, laughing at his foolish old Padawan.

This nothingness, Anakin deserves. Strange, how even in death, hope still hurts.

Foolish, indeed.

Then, footsteps.

Then, the Force.

Then, an achingly familiar presence.

A door opens and light rushes into the dark, and Anakin lifts his head to squint against it.

‘Anakin, what are you doing in there?’

The starburst softens into something gentler, like Obi-Wan’s young, bare face peering curiously down at him.

Anakin gasps. ‘Master, you’re back!’ He flings himself into Obi-Wan’s arms. Anakin senses the sudden stillness in the Force, echoed in Obi-Wan’s body, and a strange fear flows through him. Oh, the old man still hates him, a voice whispers in the back of his mind, full of dark fire and glowing eyes, and Anakin thinks he’ll be swallowed by this ancient dragon –

And then Obi-Wan pulls him into his embrace, sighing into Anakin’s hair. ‘Hello, Anakin. I’m home.’

With a shudder, the dragon crumbles to ash and Anakin grins up at Obi-Wan, surprised and pleased by the words. Nearly two years as Obi-Wan’s Padawan and it still seems as if Obi-Wan doesn’t want him at all.

Anakin wants to keep this closeness and so he holds on, merely pulling back enough that he can look up at his Master’s face. ‘How did the mission go, Master?’ he asks, voice high and sweet. The sound of it seems funny to him, all of a sudden, just like the way Obi-Wan looks so young.

‘It went very well, Anakin. Should I expect the same for your studies while I was away?’

‘Of course! I was a model Padawan. I think Master Windu is in shock.’

Obi-Wan places a hand on top of his head. It doesn’t feel heavy but Anakin can feel it all the way down to his toes. ‘Hm, that only worries me, Padawan.’

Anakin is smiling so hard that it hurts. His Master has never allowed such contact before he left for his mission in the Outer Rim nor been so openly kind, but Anakin isn’t going to complain.

‘Don’t worry, Master,’ he says proudly, thumping his chest, ‘I really was good. I passed all my exams and defeated everyone in saber training.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes! Master Drallig said I was one of the most talented trainees he’d ever seen!’

Such boasts would usually earn him a disappointed look and a lecture on humility (even though, really, Anakin is better than his peers) but Obi-Wan merely gives a soft chuckle, hugs him once more, and then gently releases him. Anakin is delighted and confused and wants to cling some more but minds himself. His Master is acting strangely. He can feel the affection flowing through their training bond. It is so close to attachment that it makes Anakin pause. Obi-Wan has repeatedly told him that attachments are forbidden and now this. Perhaps the mission had gone horribly wrong and his Master is gravely ill.

Anakin grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and tries to sense anything wrong with him using the Force. ‘Master,’ he says slowly, ‘are you sure you’re alright?’ He waves a hand and frowns. ‘You’re being weird.’

Obi-Wan smiles down at him and squeezes his hand. ‘I’m fine, Anakin. I’m just glad to see you.’

He’s not stupid enough to believe that Obi-Wan never lies but the fond look on his face seems real enough (oh, Anakin wants it to be real). His fears shrink even more in the back of his mind.

‘Alright, Master, but I think a trip to the Healers’ Room should be our first stop today.’

‘What’s the second?’

‘To look for my Kyber crystal?’

This time, Obi-Wan laughs. It’s a rare sound and Anakin bounces on his toes in glee.

‘I don’t mind seeing a Healer, my dear one, but it will be some time yet before you’re ready for the Gathering.’

Anakin grins winsomely. ‘I had to try, Master.’

‘Do or do not, there is no try,’ quotes Obi-Wan in a thoughtful, croaky voice.

Anakin laughs and the Force thrums with his happiness.

Anakin could not remember a more perfect day than this.

His Master briefly meets with the Council and afterwards informs him that they will spend the day together to catch up on Anakin’s progress. It involves a short detour with the Healers who say there is nothing wrong with Obi-Wan (and Anakin secretly breathes a sigh of relief because what if everything that has happened so far is the result of a brain injury?) and they have lunch in the gardens where Anakin regales Obi-Wan with his impressive achievements in the past week. His Master is not a silent listener throughout and comments on this (Anakin’s supposedly superb footwork) and that (Anakin’s sudden meditation prowess) with his familiar dry wit and sarcasm but lacks the usual sternness that prickles at Anakin’s pride.

They laugh and talk the day away. Other Masters and younglings look at them with fond exasperation and curiosity (Master Windu passes by five times with an eyebrow pitched higher and higher) but Obi-Wan only crooks a small smile at all of them.

They go for a swim in one of the many pools, something that rarely happens because Anakin doesn’t trust anyone else besides his Master to keep him safe should he stray from the shallow parts. He dearly loves to swim but a childhood in a desert planet had instilled in him the inability to be fully comfortable wading in water despite the skills he’d painstakingly learned to try and overcome it. Anakin is sure that it’s Obi-Wan’s doing when he gets splashed in the face a few times but Obi-Wan only tells him it’s the nearby waterfall, Anakin, really, would your respectable Master ever do such a thing? and try as he might, Anakin can’t prove otherwise.

Once they are dry and warm, Obi-Wan lures him into meditation with gentle smiles and even gentler words and, for once, Anakin doesn’t mind sitting still and letting his breathing out of his body so he can bring the Force in. It doesn’t rush through him like it usually does, a raging river, but flows as smoothly and peacefully as it does for his Master. Anakin can feel the presence of many younglings around them and he wishes they are all happy and be chosen by Masters as good as his.

The smile Obi-Wan has for him once Anakin wakes from his trance is as beautiful as the Force singing in his heart.

All perfect days must come to an end and Anakin fervently prays it will come back tomorrow as he readies himself for bed. He can hear Obi-Wan in the next room doing the same; quiet footfalls and murmurs that he hadn’t known he’d missed until the silence is suddenly not quite as lonely anymore. Anakin tugs the blanket up to his chin and falls asleep to the memory of this day.

But peace doesn’t follow him there. He sees fire behind his closed eyes, and blood, and tears, and love sundered, and his mother’s gravestone, and hears screams of children that sound just like his. Anakin tries to wake but he cannot. He suffocates in a dark mask, feels pain beyond his imaginings. No, he roars, thrashing from one nightmare to another, no, no, no, I am – I did not – Mother – Padmé – Master – Master – Obi-Wan!

‘Anakin,’ a voice sings to him, soft and worn, ‘dear one. Quiet, now. Hush.’

A hand, steady and firm, wipes across his brow and the tears streaming his cheeks.

‘Master?’ calls Anakin, childlike and lost. He is afraid to open his eyes.

‘Yes, I’m here.’ Arms, warm and safe, close around him. ‘I’m here, Anakin.’

Anakin burrows into the embrace, crying, it seems, a thousand tears for a thousand different regrets, and Obi-Wan holds him through them all.

If he is quiet and small enough, maybe he won’t have to open his eyes. He can stay here where it’s good and smells like his Master.

Obi-Wan gently tugs on a lock of hair. ‘Anakin,’ he says, ‘don’t you think it’s time to wake up?’ and shatters that hope.

Anakin sighs and turns around, doing his best not to jostle the arms encircling him, and looks at Obi-Wan’s face. He strokes the beard prickling Obi-Wan’s jaw, then the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Still younger than the last time Anakin saw him, this is the Master that haunted Anakin until his last dying moment in Luke’s arms. Anakin can still breathe easily, so he isn’t Lord Vader, but he can feel the darkness slithering away in the depths of his heart. However, there is light in him as well and whoever said that achieving Balance is a piece of cake should be shot.

Obi-Wan hums as he traces the scar on Anakin’s face. ‘There you are, Anakin.’

‘This isn’t the afterlife, is it?’ asks Anakin, tone flat. He looks around them, at the Temple room he’d once forgot. There are droid parts and tools on every available surface, and Anakin kicks a small wrench off the bed.

Obi-Wan huffs a laugh and waves a hand above their heads. ‘No, dear one.’

‘Then what is this?’

‘You could call it a reprieve.’

‘Master, I don’t understand.’

‘It’s the way of the Force, young one.’

‘I’m not young anymore.’

‘I suppose not, with eyes like these.’

Anakin��s hand flies up to press against his eyes. ‘Are they - ?’

‘A perfect shade of blue? Yes, you vain creature.’

‘How?’

‘And this one,’ says Obi-Wan, touching the skin below Anakin’s other eye, ‘belongs to the Sith.’

Anakin ducks his head, shame making his face hot. ‘How can you stand me?’

‘With practice, Anakin.’

‘This isn’t the time for your glib comments!’ Anakin snaps, frustrated.

Obi-Wan runs a soothing hand through his hair. Hair! Anakin reaches up to twine his fingers through them. He breathes deeply and holds it in his lungs. In between the long curls falling over his face, Anakin can see his flesh hand, and he brings his other hand up, black and glowing. Anakin stretches inside the circle of Obi-Wan’s arms, revelling in the pop of his spine and the shift of muscles. He knows this body, intimately. It is the body of Anakin Skywalker, walking on tightrope, doomed to fall.

Anakin drops his head on Obi-Wan’s chest. ‘Was it all a dream?’

‘You have to be more specific, my dear.’

‘I remember dying. I remember my son.’ He sighs wistfully, wishing he’d been able to feel Luke this way. ‘But then I woke up here, in the Temple.’ Anakin’s brow furrows. ‘I was eleven years old again, Master.’

‘It could have been a dream,’ says Obi-Wan, ‘but who says it couldn’t have been real as well?’ He curls his fingers under Anakin’s chin, tipping it up until their eyes meet. Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch but softens, and Anakin’s heart beats greedily for more.

Smiling, Anakin hesitantly places his hands on Obi-Wan’s chest, expecting to be shoved away, but Obi-Wan merely sighs and snuggles closer. ‘I didn’t miss this vagueness of yours, Master.’ Oh, he did. ‘It felt real to me.’

‘Then it was real, my Padawan.’

‘How?’ asks Anakin, persistent.

‘You’d have to ask Master Yoda for specifics, but I believe there is this thing called the Force that guides each and every one of us – ’

Anakin laughs for the first time in so long; it hurts and fills him up with a strange mix of joy and despair. He wheezes, unable to contain it, and gently slaps Obi-Wan on the arm. ‘Obi-Wan, please be serious.’

‘When have you ever been serious, Anakin?’ They both know the answer to that. Still, Obi-Wan’s eyes twinkle down at him, so uncommon in the old days during the war, and even before that, when Obi-Wan maintained his distance as he trained Anakin. ‘Do you truly not know the answer?’

Anakin lets his fingers drift into the open collars of Obi-Wan’s robes, skittishly running them along the triangle of skin exposed. He does know. ‘I was – afraid,’ he says haltingly, voice soft. ‘I knew death would not be kind to someone like me. I’m still a coward. I ran away to a place I was the closest to being happy.’

‘As my Padawan,’ says Obi-Wan, just as quiet. ‘Why not to your mother, Anakin? Or Padmé?’

Pain stabs at him at their names. He grabs hold of Obi-Wan’s shoulder and looks into his eyes, mournful. ‘I was never happy on Tatooine. It was there where I first learned how a life could ever be so of little value, and I’m ashamed to admit that I can’t remember my mother as well as I’d like. There were soft touches and lullabies at night, soothing words when I was hurt, but I’ve grown so far away from those days that my memory fails. As for Padmé – ’ Anakin swallows roughly, tears falling from his eyes. ‘She was peace and now my penitence. The one I loved and wronged so cruelly. I ended her beauty and goodness. I was never truly happy with her because I always wanted more, more, more. Everything. I was blinded by greed.’

‘And you,’ he whispers, clutching tight, ‘we were brothers in arms during the war. We forged a bond that refused to be denied. From my brightest memory to my darkest moment, you were there, Obi-Wan, the one constant in a damned world.’

‘I saw how you looked at the younglings,’ says Obi-Wan, tracing Anakin’s angry brows with his thumb. The touch burns.

Anakin moans. ‘I regret them the most!’

‘In this, we are the same,’ confesses Obi-Wan, his own tears slipping free. He looks heartbroken and Anakin weeps into his chest. ‘I could not protect them. I could not protect you.’

‘I don’t deserve protection. I don’t deserve this. Master!’ Anakin knows he does not but he still seeks comfort as he shakes apart, such grief and pain that it threatens to undo him until even the Force will not be able to put him back together.

Soft lips touch the top of his head. ‘Oh, Anakin. Let it out, let it out. Give it back to the Force.’

Anakin doesn’t know if he can anymore. He’s always grabbed at his emotions and kept them deep within himself even as they slowly turned to poison.

‘Imagine my surprise when I found you here, of all places,’ Obi-Wan tells him, his gentle laughter ruffling the curls sticking to Anakin’s wet cheeks. His voice is soothing, calm. ‘You were once again the boy I raised, so precious to me that I could barely think of you during my long years of exile. To remember you as you were would only remind me of my failures as your Master, of lost smiles and our broken bond. Hush, now, don’t argue. Didn’t you wonder why I let you have this day, Anakin? I saw how hungry you were for affection, for a kind word from me. I admit there was a time when I’d been jealous of you, because my own Master favoured you over me despite how much effort I put in to being the perfect Padawan.’

Anakin quietens, his sobs turning into hiccups and raspy breaths. He listens.

‘And today was for me, as well. When they gave you to me, I decided I would become the Master I thought you needed: distant, impeccable, thoughtful but cold. It was my mistake, because even as we eventually grew closer, I still denied to myself the attachment we forged. In turn, I became someone who you felt you couldn’t trust and therefore turned to others for guidance.’

‘Obi-Wan, no, it was all my fault – ’

Humour seeps back into Obi-Wan’s eyes. ‘Come, now, Anakin, I know you enjoy being dramatic and hoarding the limelight but so many of us were at fault.’

Anakin huffs. He wipes at his face and settles back onto the bed, still held loosely in Obi-Wan’s arms. ‘Is this supposed to bring me peace, Master?’

‘Is it working?’

‘No.’

‘Then it’s not meant to.’

‘Ugh, I hate you sometimes.’

Obi-Wan smiles sadly at him. ‘And I’ve always loved you, even after you turned to the Dark Side. Even after you took innocent lives. In my darkest hours, I sometimes wondered why I could not let go of you, Anakin Skywalker. Who is the real monster: the man who murders or the one who still loves him despite it all?’

Heart in his throat, he reaches out with his flesh hand and touches Obi-Wan’s cheek, watching as his fair eyelashes fluttered shut. ‘Even when my hate for you burned in my blood and I swore to the stars I’d kill you, I knew deep inside that I could not fathom a world without you. When you finally died, the last piece of me died as well. I think I was always calling out for you, Obi-Wan, but I never thought you’d hear me.’

They fall silent, letting their emotions flow, feeling each other through the Force and with their hands.

‘You keep touching me,’ says Anakin.

The fingers go on tracing circles on his skin. ‘Does it bother you?’

Anakin bites his lip. ‘No, but – I killed you. I killed all of you.’

‘Not all,’ says Obi-Wan. ‘Luke and Leia are spared but yes, you did kill a fair few people.’

‘So why touch me at all? How can you stand to be even near me?’ cries Anakin, fists tugging the robes of his Master.

Obi-Wan looks him in the eye, face serene. ‘Because it’s been a long, long, long time since I’ve touched anybody.’ He pauses, then curls a hand over Anakin’s cheek. ‘And it’s you, Anakin.’

Anakin breathes through the joy blossoming within him, cautious and achingly sweet and wobbling on its newborn legs. ‘I wanted this from you,’ he confesses, reaching up to hold Obi-Wan’s face in his hands. There are echoes of old desperation in his voice. ‘I yearned for this, but I was afraid you would reject me. So, so afraid.’

‘I would have,’ says Obi-Wan, honest and sad.

Torment lances through Anakin’s heart. ‘I know.’

‘You were so young, Anakin, and you were my charge. We were both Jedi and the Code was clear.’ Obi-Wan gathers him closer and presses their cheeks together. Anakin closes his eyes, trembling. ‘But if things had been different, if we had just met, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, then - ’

Anakin whispers, ‘Can we still have this in the afterlife? Can I still have this, Obi-Wan?’ You? he does not dare say out loud.

‘Our fates are intertwined,’ Obi-Wan tells him, ‘because I’m here; I answered your call when you were dying. I’ve never felt the Force mourn and rejoice at the same time. It was calling you home.’

Sighing, Anakin tucks his face into the curve of Obi-Wan’s neck. ‘And you will lead me there, my own Force ghost.’

‘Yes. Believe me, I was surprised to find myself as one.’

‘I can’t even imagine it, peace for a monster like me.’

‘You weren’t, once. Not all of you. And, perhaps, one day you will be called upon when there is need of your aid, a chance to atone for your crimes.’

Anakin smiles, crooked. ‘Will it be selfish of me if I run away when it happens?’

‘Very selfish, yes,’ laughs Obi-Wan, ‘but I’ll drag you by the ear,’ and nips him lightly on the said ear.

Anakin lets out a yawn, suddenly more tired than he’s ever been.

Obi-Wan smiles tenderly down at him, then leans close to press their lips in the briefest, sweetest kiss. ‘Shall we rest?’ he asks.

Anakin stares into Obi-Wan’s eyes and feels one last burst of fear that he will be alone again when he next wakes up. Tender understanding glows in Obi-Wan’s eyes as he touches Anakin’s cheek with his fingertips and draws the anxiety out of him. Anakin doesn’t deserve this and it only makes him more aware of how lucky he is. There is only peace between them now.

‘Yes, Master.’

The Force opens around them and Anakin is swept away, his past released, moment by moment, into the ether until he becomes stardust, they are stardust, and everything is quiet.

#obikin #obikinweek17 #obikinweek #angst #fluff #intimacy #regret #second chance #tenderness #retts #obikin fic

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veliusthewanderer · 5 years

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2021 The Race is On and It Looks Like A Frak-Up

Yes ladies and gentlemen, that time that you anticipate with both hope and dread is fast approaching: 2021 and the presentation of a new POTUS. Will he be Republican? Will he be Democrat? Will he actually be a ‘she’? Third Party? Its much too early in the game to know for sure, but let’s go over a few of the choices from each and see how they might stand against an incumbent dictator.

As of this post, there are no confirmed Republican challengers to Donald Trump. There are at least two possible explanations for this lack of a spine on the part of the GOP to field someone willing to take on Trump. They either worship the ground he slithers on, kissing his bumpy, sewer-smelling backside and act as those bobble-head dolls whenever he makes a move to usurp Congress, or they’re so terrified of him because of his ill-gotten wealth and dynamism that they cower in the corner and allow Trump to get away with murder-figuratively speaking. Its still early so there is hope someone will eventually tire of Trump’s oral flatulence and defy his cult of personality to put the country back on the right path, but personally I feel that hope is so slim as to be nonexistent.

On the other hand, thanks to a surge which propelled them into the House of Representatives for the first time in a decade, Democrats have been lining up, ready willing and able to take on the Ogre Trump. Fresh faces (three of which I’ll get to in a moment) as well as old favorites have either announced their candidacy or are exploring the idea seriously. Before I get to the new faces, however, I need to talk of the three old favorites and why I believe two of those might bring the worst outcome, a continuation of the Trump dictatorship, into reality. Elizabeth Warren, Bernie Sanders (no poo-pooing from the Bernie Bros), and Joe Biden, starting with Warren. Back in 2016, she was being touted as a possible alternative to Hillary Clinton, an idea she spurned right from the start. Since then, however, she has become a magnet for those hoping to put a woman in the Oval Office but STILL can’t see Hillary Clinton as that woman. She’s taken on Trump, who delights in calling her ‘Pocahantas’ while besmirching her on TV, and at rallies. The recent revelation that she misidentified as ‘Native American’ on a document years ago has now come back to haunt her, as Trump has taken that football and ran with it, with little defense from Warren or the Democrats. A Warren nomination now would spell a second Trump administration as I feel she no longer has credibility and thus Trump would easily destroy her in the general election. Next up, Joe Biden. While the fact he was VP under Obama gives him major points among those hoping to revive the Obama coalition and take Trump down, Trump hasn’t shied away from attacking him as well, saying he’d knock Biden out in a single punch because he’s too old. While it is more likely that Biden could stand toe-to-toe with Trump on equal footing, I personally still believe that Trump would somehow (Russia) find a way to come out on top. I saved Bernie Sanders for last because I’m certain the Bernie Bros and ‘Berniecrats’ will start posting death-threats once I’m done (but as you don’t know who I am or where I live, good luck *wink* ), but sadly for you Berniecrats, he’s right now the biggest threat to any hope of removing Trump from office and making him face justice once and for all. It should be apparent to you Berniecrats that Trump is LOVING the idea of Bernie running again, as the many Berniecrats who defected to Trump did give some assistance to his campaign in 2016. Trump is already planning how to play up the ‘humiliation of 2016′ in which Clinton FAIR AND SQUARE beat Sanders to grab more support from those who still feel that Bernie got screwed. Now let me just be clear on this point (and make sure if you have trouble reading, zoom in the text or buy glasses). I didn’t fully support Bernie back in 2016 (yep, a Clinton supporter, KMA), but had he won the nomination, I would’ve voted for him readily and easily because as we now know, the alternative would’ve been a Trump dictatorship that would make Stalin look like Mr Rogers in comparison. Unfortunately, that is where my sympathy comes to an end, as a Bernie nomination-like the Warren nomination-would only spell another four years of the Orange Ogre.

Now that I’ve likely dashed the hopes of the supporters of the old school Democrats (and likely gotten death-threats from the Bernie fans), let me now talk about the three fresh faces of the Democratic Party who are running for president: Kamala Harris, Beto O’Rorke, and Julian Castro (no offense to Cory Booker, I’ll save him for another blog. Don’t worry, nothing bad will be said about him). Kamala Harris is another woman looking to to pick up the torch Hillary was forced to drop (Russia, FBI, Snowden), but unlike Warren, she is younger and-when it comes to Trump-just as fired up as her older fellow Democrat. Harris has been garnering a lot of support (second really, behind Bernie), raised more than $1 million and been meeting across the country. Thanks to the #MeToo movement and the earlier midterm elections, her campaign has received a boost and she could very well be able to remove the Trump blight from the Oval Office, especially if she’s paired up with one of the other two (three if you count Booker) candidates, O’Rorke and Castro. Harris is best placed to challenge Trump on matters that most concern women, such as healthcare, abortion rights, education. Julian Castro, son of immigrant parents, has the credentials either as presidential nominee or as running-mate to Harris, and could take on Trump on matters of immigration, healthcare, gun regulations, and education. Personally he’s my second choice for president for those very reasons, and while I would happily back a Harris-Castro Democratic ticket against Trump-Pence, another dream combination would be Castro and the third and most fresh face in the Democrat Party, Beto O’Rorke. Beto came from literally out of the blue, took on the Canadian Ted Cruz and lost by ONLY 3%. But even in defeat, Beto won simply by having his name out there, in Texas. Using that, he traveled to Iowa, where the first caucus is held, and announced his presidential campaign. Even if he gesticulates with his hands (a fact not lost on Trump, who ridiculed it much to the disinterest of O’Rorke himself) and looks like a model for L.L.Bean, Beto, like Castro, can take on Trump when it comes to immigration-having come from a border state, education, and gun regulations. He’s MY personal choice for Democratic candidate.

Now, unfortunately, I have to mention the Third Party because this year that candidate could play spoiler. Howard Schultz announced his candidacy just two months ago, and the resulting firestorm of protest from Democratic voters forced him, in a CNN town hall, to make clear he’d withdraw if it looked like his campaign would give Trump an edge. As much as I’d like to believe him, past history with third-party candidates has shown that its not likely he’ll honor his word. I could write a whole new paragraph ripping into the past third party candidacies of Ross Perot, Ralph Nader, Gary Johnson..but I won’t. I’ll simply conclude this one by saying that Schultz ties Bernie Sanders for biggest threat to any hopes of removing the stain that is Trump from the Oval Office and confining him forever to a mere chapter in US history texts.

In conclusion, while I will NEVER vote Republican, I still hope someone in the GOP will finally come to their senses, grow a pair, and stand up to Trump on the presidential stage. Barring that, I hope that either Harris, O’Rorke, Castro, even Booker will emerge as nominees (and maybe select one of the others as running mate) and take Trump down. I sincerely hope Bernie reconsiders once it becomes clear he would hand the Oval Office to Trump on a gold plate should he continue to run..and drop out. I hope Schultz will honor his pledge should it look like Trump will get an advantage and drop out. But as I said, the day is still young. Anything can happen, so until the final nominations on both sides takes place, its all up in the air.

#2021 #Beto2021 #dumptrump

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